


Tumblr prompts for Teen Wolf

by Udunie



Series: Tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Stiles, Bestiality, Bottom!Peter, Coming Untouched, Cuckolding, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Enemas, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Figging, Fisting, Home Invasion, Humiliation, Hypnotism, Incest, Infantilism, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Medical Kink, Mind Control, Mommy Kink, Pre-Slash, Public Humiliation, Puppy Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Short, Small Penis, Spanking, Speculum, Threesome - M/M/M, Watersports, kitten play, unethical behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 44,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my collection of unconnected ficlets for the prompts I got on tumblr. They will mostly be Peter/Stiles and Alan/Stiles, but a few ot3 might appear too.<br/>This will always be marked as 'complete' but I will add more chapters as I write them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alan/Stiles - medical

anonymous asked:

if you're still taking prompts maybe some medical kink for whichever pairing you prefer? (love your writing!)

+

anonymous asked:

Still taking prompts? How about Deaton fucking Stiles in front of the pets at his clinic?

 

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A/N: I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of put these two together… There’s no actually fucking, but I hope you guys will like it!

* * *

“It’s stuck,” Stiles repeated, shifting from one foot to the other. It wasn’t like he was particularly enjoying this either.

Doctor Deaton sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. He was looking pretty tired - no wonder, considering he just spent more than an hour patching up the pack after a run in with some critters.

“Your butt plug,” Deaton said finally, after regaining his composure “is stuck.”

Stiles felt his face grow hot. It wasn’t like he wanted to end up in this situation, Deaton had no right to look so put-out.

“Hey, I was just having some… you know,  _private_ time when this whole harpy thing happened. I had no idea it would take this long and… yeah.”

“Maybe you should go to the hospital, then.”

Stiles almost fainted from just the thought of it.

“No-no-no, doc, listen. Melissa works there, she will find out about it, hell, everyone knows me there and they are going to tell my  _dad_ …” he felt himself slowly inching closer to a panic attack, but Deaton held his hand up silencingly before he could work himself up. 

The man took a deep, calming breath and looked around the examination room. The table in the middle was more-or-less completely covered in blood - mostly werewolf - and there were used medical equipment and bandages littering the floor.

“Well, I don’t think it would be wise to look at you here,” he said, turning around and heading deeper into the clinic. Stiles followed, wincing from time to time as the plug shifted.

They ended up in the recovery room; two of the walls were lined with cages, most of them empty, but Stiles could see four dogs and two cats. The animals immediately started making noise as they entered. A spare exam table was set up against the free wall, and Deaton nodded towards it.

“Undress below the waist and get on, I will be right back,” the man said before leaving.

Stiles gulped. Well. He shucked off his jeans but made the mistake of looking up just as he was about to loose his underwear.

A chihuahua was staring at him, the cone around his head coupled with his huge, unblinking eyes made the animal look like some kind of little gray alien. Stiles was pretty sure it was judging him.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, even though the dog was silent.

He could hear Deaton coming in advance - there was a metallic rattling and soon enough the doctor opened the door, pushing a little trolley covered with a cloth. It wasn’t very reassuring. Stiles didn’t dare examining whatever could be under the cover, instead he carefully got on the table.

“All fours, please,” the doctor said absentmindedly and then pushed on something that made the table go lower, until Stiles’s ass was in line with the man’s stomach.

There was the sound of rubber gloves slapping into place and then nothing for a few minutes.

When Deaton finally touched - warm, slicked up - fingertips to the crack of Stiles’s ass he almost jumped off the table.

“Easy now. How long did you have it in?” the man asked, prodding around the base of the plug. He pulled a bit, making Stiles stifle a whine as the toy tugged on his insides without any hope of getting free.

“Ugh… Around… around five hours, I guess…”

Deaton hummed, and a cat answered with a meow from one of the cages.

“I see the problem. I’m guessing that you’ve stretched your sphincter before inserting the plug, but by now it’s tightened up again.”

Stiles rested his head on his arms, not even caring that it made his ass stick out obscenely. He was going to die of mortification.

“It will be a bit difficult, but I have no choice but stretch you out again until I can work it free.”

“S-sure,” Stiles said faintly.

The man worked silently for a while; he added more lube and then kept pushing his fingers under the base of the plug, rubbing at the over-sensitized rim until it unclenched enough for him to insert one of the digits beside it.

Stiles was biting the fabric of the shirt on his arm, but even that wasn’t enough to completely silence his moaning. Okay, okay so he had a thing for sticking things in his butt. No big deal. Though he would have preferred to keep it to himself.

He was getting so hard.

“You’re almost there,” the doctor said after he managed to push two fingers in along the thin stem of the plug. He didn’t comment on the fact that Stiles’s cock was dripping a steady stream of precome on the table.

‘Tha… that’s good,” the boy said, wallowing thickly. Shit. He was so close.

“Alright, I need you to push on three,” Deaton dictated, withdrawing his fingers and getting a firm hold around the base of the plug.

Stiles shuddered, shifting his knees wider and nodded against his arms.

“One, two… three.”

He pushed and at the same time the doctor started to pull on the toy steadily. It seemed like it won’t work, but then Deaton gave a little, sharp tug and suddenly it was  _out_.

Stiles almost collapsed with the relief - half from finally getting the plug free, and half from managing to  _not_ come while the ordeal lasted. He was about to get up when he felt Deaton’s hand pushing on the small of his back.

“Stay still. I have to make sure everything is alright in there.”

“Ugh…” he wanted to protest; his ass felt fine, a bit sore, but he was pretty sure he didn’t tear anything. But… he wasn’t a doctor, maybe it would be better if Deaton checked him out.

“Good boy,” the man said after he lowered himself back to his elbows and those two words were enough to have him shaking.

“I need to have a look at your rectum properly. This will be cold, but hold still,” Deaton said, and that was the only warning Stiles got before feeling something chilling sliding into him. It felt heavy - probably metal.

“Wh-what…?” he couldn’t even finish the question before the thing in his ass was moving - getting wider and wider until he could feel the cool air of the room whispering against his insides.

“A speculum, of course,” the doctor said, like it was the most natural thing in the word.

Stiles’ head was swimming and his cock twitched as it hang heavy and full between his legs.

“There’s only a slight irritation. You should use more lubrication next time, and you should absolutely avoid leaving anything in there for extended periods of time,” Deaton said conversationally, even as one of his fingers prodded inside between the parted blades of the instrument and started petting Stiles’s inner walls.

“You… Ah-ah… I…” he had no idea what he wanted to say, but the doctor was rubbing the tip of his finger right over his prostate. It made him go crazy.

Stiles couldn’t help his hips twitch, but Deaton was prepared, grabbing him with his free hand a keeping him in place while he continued massaging the little bundle of nerves methodically.

He was panting openly now, unable to hold back the noises pouring out of him, and to his shame the other occupants of the room decided that it was time to join in. He could hear meows and whines and barks coming from all the cages as he was falling apart on Deaton’s finger. He couldn’t stop.

“That’s it, we have to make sure everything is functioning properly,” the doctor said, before adding another finger and pushing down hard on his prostate - it was more than he could take, and Stiles came with a strangled cry, come splattering over the table between his legs without his cock ever getting touched.

“Well,” Deaton said, pulling out first his fingers, then the speculum. “I guess you’re prepared properly now.”

Stiles was still trying to gather his wits around him when he felt his plug being pushed back into his ass, making him moan.

“You can have it in until you get home, but clean up here before you leave,” the doctor ordered, pushing his cart out the door without a backward glance.

 


	2. Peter/Stiles - arranged marriage

[steters](http://steters.tumblr.com/) asked:

could you do a steter arranged marriage drabble? could be kinky or fluffy, up to you and what you're feeling (and if you're not feeling it all, no problem!), i just love your work!

* * *

 

A/N: Thank you so much! I will try, hope you like it!

* * *

 

“So,” the Stilinski boy said, standing by the foot of the bed, leaning against one of the thick wooden columns at the corners, “how will this go?”

Peter could see that he wanted to act casual, like getting married to a stranger was no big deal, but the way his fingers twitched at his side and the rapid beat of his heart were telling a different story.

Their union might have been just what the world needed to bridge the constantly deepening chasm between the supernatural and the human world, but it wasn’t something they choose for themselves.

Peter, at least, had experience. If he wanted to be honest, he didn’t envy the boy; having his first time be with someone he didn’t know, didn’t care about? No thank you.

Of course, the honorable thing to do would probably be to let the boy off the hook. Nobody had to know what they did in the bedroom - even  if it was nothing, but…

But he wasn’t honorable. Maybe if the Stilinski boy - Stiles - didn’t smell so good, if the thrum of his pulse didn’t make Peter’s gums itch to let his fangs drop. Maybe.

At least he could make it good. Every wolf could smell the weave of heavy arousal pouring out of the boy’s pores as soon as he was led to the altar and saw the werewolf he had to marry, all Peter had to do was cash on on that promise of pheromones.

“Hm… I wonder,” Peter said, slowly unbuttoning his shirt while he kept his eyes locked on the thin, dotted skin stretching along Stiles’ neck. The boy swallowed nervously, the man could practically see him getting turned on.

“Maybe with you on your back…” he mused absentmindedly, loosing his shirt and getting rid of his pants just as quickly. Stiles was still fully dressed, but his whole body was trembling with - anxiety or excitement? Probably both. He looked like he was going to shake out of his clothes.

Peter stepped up to him, and started working on the boy’s shirt. He wanted to tear it off, but it wouldn’t do to scare the little lamb.

Stiles was looking at him with wide eyes, hands hanging limply at his side as he just let himself be undressed. He was panting a bit, through his slightly open mouth, like he forgot to close it. It was almost endearing.

“Well, on your back at first. Then I will have you on your hands and knees - it will let me fuck you deeper,” Peter said, thumbing the boy’s pink nipples into hardness as they were uncovered. 

Stiles moaned, eyes falling shut, body slacking.

“Okay,” Stiles said as his head thumped back against the post, offering his throat to his husband.


	3. Peter/Stiles - professors

anonymous asked:

could you do whichever ship you feel with figging or if that's not your cup of tea could you do some kind fluff of professor hale/deaton mistaking young professor stiles for a student? also love your work and hope you have a great day!

* * *

 

A/N: Figging is right up my alley, but I will pass right now, if you don’t mind. But I will do the other one! 

Anyone, feel free to give me more prompts! I’m not promising anything, but it seems like I’m on a roll!

A/N2: I just realized after writing, that you wanted ‘fluff’ OMG SORRY

* * *

 

“Um, sorry, professor Hale?” came a tentative voice from the door of Peter’s office and he couldn’t help burring his face in his hands. 

Seriously? The deadline was  _noon_. He told the imbeciles at the beginning of the semester explicitly that he wouldn’t accept the papers late. Not even a minute late. His head was hurting from listening to Rachel Campman crying his ears off for half an hour before she gave up and stormed out just two minutes ago.

“No. No, I will not accept your paper. Not for money, not for your unborn children and not even for sexual favo…” his voice trailed off as he finally looked up from his hands.

The kid was cute. Cute and hot - in a bit of a nerdy way, thanks to the thick glasses sitting on his upturned nose. He couldn’t help letting his eyes roam over the pink, lush lips, the pale, long neck dotted with moles and those legs… Those legs just kept on going. It was only natural to imagine them wrapped around his waist as he fucked the kid against the wall.

“On second thought, close the door,” Peter said, watching as the boy gulped and hesitantly obeyed. There was a reason nobody who actually knew him thought him getting into teaching was a good idea.

“Professor Hale? I don’t think…” he started, long, delicate fingers twitching on the door handle.

Peter just arched his eyebrow, rolling his chair back and a bit to the side so the kid could see the way his knees fell apart in invitation.

The kid’s eyes zeroed in on his crotch. There was already a bulge there - Peter had a bit of a dry spell and after listening to Rachel making lewd offers in detail with tears in her eyes he was already good to go.

The boy licked his lips after a few long seconds of just staring and then shook his shoulders in the international gesture of ‘why the fuck not’ before turning the key in the lock.

Smart little shit.

The kid crossed the distance in three long steps and fell to his knees with an ease that promised good things to come.

***

Peter blew out a long breath. He couldn’t remember when was the last time that he had such a satisfying orgasm, in fact, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stand, even if the dean herself was knocking on the door.

“Alright kid. I will accept your paper late. Just this once.”

The boy licked his lips clean of come - they became red and puffy and slick with spit - and pushed his glasses up his nose without making any move to stand from between Peter’s legs.

“My name’s Stiles. _Professor_ Stiles Stilinski. Dr Deaton sent me your way to show me around,” he said, and promptly burst out laughing as Peter choked on his own saliva.


	4. Peter/Stiles - orgasm delay

[postdata-this-is-not-heaven](http://postdata-this-is-not-heaven.tumblr.com/) asked:

Hi! I would like to read some Peter/Stiles. They are my favorite OTP. Could you write a drabble with Orgasm delay? I would like to read one where Peter was the one being brought to the edge and then let down since there are plenty the other way around. So you know, if you like the idea, I would love to read it! Please, tag me o send me a message so I can read it, I wouldn't want to miss it! Thank you!

* * *

A/N: Hullo, thanks for the prompt! I’m hoping to get rid of the rust since I’m having a bit of a block… Anyway, this is just a short something, but I hope you like it! Also, I’m still taking prompts! So if anyone wants something, drop me an ask!

* * *

 

“Hm… I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Stiles said, after releasing Peter’s dick from his mouth with a wet pop. His voice was a bit raspy, but for once, he wasn’t complaining.

Peter huffed out a soft breath, looking almost completely unaffected - at least at first glance. Stiles knew better though. There were a few small droplets of sweat sitting at the werewolf’s temple, and his hands - tied to the headboard with good old, regular rope he could break whenever he wanted - were clenched.

“I still don’t see the point of this,” Peter commented oh-so-casually.

“The point,” Stiles said, tugging on the man’s angry looking erection with a firm grip, just the way he knew Peter liked it, “is that sometimes you have to take a bit of your own medicine.”

Peter had the nerve to roll his eyes. Stiles was half convinced that he was just covering the fact that they were rolling back with pleasure.

“We’ve talked about this; it’s fun to tease you, because you’re a slut for it. I, on the other hand, am not a needy little harlot.”

Stiles glared at him over the man’s cock.

“We will see about that,” he grumbled, before swallowing Peter’s dick to the root. He was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the stifled groan from above.

Yeah, he was getting the hang of it.


	5. Alan/Stiles - anniversary

**Anonymous asked: Could you do something with Alan/Stiles celebrating an anniversary long term-relationship kinda? Thanks for taking prompts!**

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A/N: Sure thing, anon!

* * *

 

Stiles felt completely beaten by the time he finally turned the key in the front door to their house. He was only gone for a bit more than a week, but it seemed much longer; emergency jobs like this always had him completely wrung out afterwards.

But that’s what you get, when you are East America’s only supernatural consultant/occasional witch/unbound emissary. It wasn’t like he was complaining - he enjoyed his job most of the time - but sometimes he just wanted to unwind a bit, spend some time with his man.

He limped slowly to the living room - his prosthesis wasn’t designed with being on his feet for 48 hours in mind - staying as quiet as he could; sometimes Alan would fall asleep on the couch with a book in his hand.

The man was awake now, though, stretched out with a large book balanced on his thighs. His glasses were perched on almost the tip of his nose, but he was so caught up in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even notice that they were about to fall off.

“Hi,” Stiles said, already grinning. There was nothing better than coming home and knowing that everything was as it should be.

Alan glanced up, his serious face completely transformed by his answering smile.

“Stiles, you didn’t tell me when you would get back.” 

It wasn’t an accusation, the man knew that he couldn’t exactly schedule things ahead of time with his work, though Stiles tried to call when he could.

“Yeah, sorry. I just barely caught the plane and my phone died sometime yesterday,” he explained, letting his eyes drink in his lover’s features. 

Not a single person would have believed that they would get this far. Stiles was only twenty when he got together with Alan, who was thirty-eight at the time, and they’ve been together ever since. At first, people’ve told him it was stupid to settle down with someone who could have been his father, then - after Stiles lost an eye and his left leg below the knee - they’ve told Alan that he was still young enough to find someone ‘whole’.

None of it mattered. The people who cared about them - and who  _they_ cared about - came to terms with them being an item, and got used to the fact that Stiles would always get involved with crazy dangerous shit, and Alan would always be there at the end of the day to patch him up and nurse him back to health.

The man was nearing fifty now, but it barely showed; Stiles suspected that somehow magic was involved, because other than the white in his beard, Alan looked almost exactly like he did ten years ago, when…

Shit.

Stiles grabbed the door frame, suddenly completely overwhelmed by fatigue and guilt.

Alan’s brows drew together, already shifting to run to the rescue, but Stiles waved him away, closing his eyes for a second to collect himself. Yesterday. Yesterday was their ten year anniversary.

“I forgot our anniversary,” he admitted, feeling much older than thirty. “Well, no, I didn’t forget  _completely_ , I had your present picked out, I was just about to go and actually buy it, but then… Then this stupid job came up and I… Yeah, I forgot.”

Alan rolled his eyes, huffing out a small breath.

“It’s fine, and anyway, I think I will enjoy what I got you just as much as you will,” he said before taking a long look at Stiles. “Now get over here before you fall on your face, it wouldn’t be a very good first impression.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and limped over just to see a black ball of fur sitting in Alan’s lap behind the large tome he was reading.

“What the…” 

The man put the book away as he sat up to make room for him and ran a hand over the ball, only for it to unfold into a small cat. Kitten, actually.

It blinked slowly, turning one green eye towards Stiles as it stretched. It only had three legs, though it didn’t seem too bothered by it.

Stiles reached out, petting the cat gently and immediately felt a shock of warm, golden magic running along his skin.

“Alan, is the cat  _magic_?” he asked, awestruck.

His lover chuckled, giving him a quick kiss welcome before answering.

“I have a friend who breeds familiars. Unfortunately this little guy had a rather ugly run in with a dog and my friend was close to giving up on him when I showed up,” he explained, plopping the animal in Stiles’ lap. “When I saw that he was missing an eye and a leg, I already knew it was meant to be.”

Stiles looked up at him as the kitten started to purr and rub against his stomach.

“Yeah, it was probably meant to be.”

Just like them.


	6. Chris/Peter/Stiles - that much blood shouldn't be anywhere near that attractive, and yet

[confusetherude](http://confusetherude.tumblr.com/) asked:

peter/stiles/chris; 'that much blood shouldn't be anywhere near that attractive, and yet.'

* * *

A/N: This kind of turned into preslash? I hope you don’t mind…

* * *

 

The Fae were snarling and hissing at them from the outskirts of the clearing, but they were powerless to do anything with Stiles standing between them and the pack.

And Stiles wasn’t budging. He was standing in the middle, half-naked, chest decorated with runes drawn in coal under the blood slowly drying on his skin. He was literally covered in the blood of their enemies - a Fae’s who they’ve managed to capture just yesterday - and there was a power radiating from him, that was hard to describe.

“I suggest that you leave this land, and never come back,” Stiles said, voice thundering and barely recognizable. There was a misty, while glow radiating from his pupils and the white of his eyes as he stared down the Fae queen with an unblinking gaze.

It was probably unwise to give the boy so much power, but since the Fae came to their territory almost a month ago the casualties just kept piling up until they had no other choice but to risk it.

Peter, personally, thought it was a great idea. Stiles might have been ‘just’ a human when the pack formed, but now it was time for everyone to see and acknowledge the potential and power that he wielded. 

Derek and Scott didn’t agree - naturally -, but to Peter’s surprise it was Chris who finally managed to convince the Alphas to go through with this crazy plan.

Meanwhile, Stiles casually threw a bolt of lightning at one of the Fae who tried to sneak around him to get at his friends, the sudden burst of light illuminating the red on his skin.

“That much blood shouldn’t be anywhere near that attractive,” Peter murmured, mostly to himself.

“And yet,” Chris continued deadpan, uncaring of the way Derek slowly backed away from them with a horrified look on his face.

Peter couldn’t help grinning, catching the hunter’s eye in the flash of another bolt of lightning.

And yet, indeed.

 


	7. Peter/Stiles - emotional h/c

anonymous asked:

Hi! Could you please write steter where peter is hurting somehow - plagued by nightmares or being haunted by something - and nobody in the pack notices, because it's peter, he can't possibly feel bad, but stiles does and eventually figures it out and helps. Happy ending, please :)

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A/N: Ugh… I tried, though I’m not sure this is what you wanted…

* * *

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles said, as he stepped in through the heavy metal doors. “You are literally chilling out in a crypt, what are you, a vampire? Next thing I know; you will start sparkling.”

Peter looked up from where he was reading on his phone, silently cursing himself for being too preoccupied and not hearing anyone approach.

“Stiles, what are you doing here?” he asked with a raised brow, acting like sitting alone in his family’s crypt was the most natural thing in the world.

The boy took a good long look at the werewolf by the dim light of the screen. Peter wasn’t looking too hot. Well, not as hot as usual… He’d noticed that there was something bugging the man, but only started to get worried when he saw Peter sneaking into the cemetery, multiple times.

Okay, so he drove by a couple times a week - always on the verge of going in to visit his mother’s grave, but rarely actually doing it - so sue him. At least this way he managed to figure out where Peter was constantly disappearing to.

“Anyway, I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and thought I would drop by,” he explained, using a stone to keep the doors from closing completely behind him, since  _he_  didn’t have perfect night-vision.

“In the neighborhood?” Peter asked skeptically, shifting on the ground and pocketing his phone.

“Yup,” the boy said, plopping down next to the werewolf and pulling out a large bucket of ice cream from the grocery bag he was carrying. Peter opened his mouth, probably to make some half-hearted, snide remark, but Stiles just popped one of the plastic spoons he picked up into it before he could talk.

“Oh shut up, triple chocolate ice cream is the gods’ balm for the soul,” he said, digging in without pause.

Peter stared at the boy in puzzlement for a few seconds, then shook his head.

“This is bizarre,” he commented before following Stiles’ lead. He couldn’t stop from moaning at the first taste. 

“Told you!”


	8. Peter/Stiles - bottom!Peter

anonymous asked:

Could you write something with bottom Peter?

* * *

A/N: Not my usual cup of tea, but I will give it a try :D

* * *

 

The door of his apartment banged open just as Peter was getting out of the shower.

“Peter! Peter where are you?! Did you see it?! Did you see what I did? I did magic! Holy shit! Holy shit, I set someone on fire with my MIND!” Stiles shouted while stomping around his living room like he owned it. At least the little brat had enough common sense to close the door, not like it mattered much with the volume he was using…

And yes, he saw. It was hard to miss, considering he was standing right beside the boy when he did it - the only reason he didn’t stick around for the clean-up was that he didn’t do too well with the smell of burning flesh, and well… clean-up.

He sighed, wrapping a towel around his waist and made his way to the living room. Stiles was marching around his couch in circles, still muttering to himself - thankfully finally switching to his inside voice.

“Holy… Holy shit. I can’t believe I did it. It was awesome. It was amazing. Seriously. Come on, seriously. I’m a fucking bad-ass wizard-witch-warlock thing. Holy shit…”

Peter leaned against the doorway and just watched him freak out for a few minutes - Stiles didn’t even notice him -, but it didn’t take long for his patience to run out.

“If you say ‘holy shit’ again, I’m sewing your mouth shut,” he said dryly, finally catching the boy’s attention.

Stiles turned to him with wide, bambi eyes - making it really hard to believe that he  _did_ , actually, set someone on fire with only the power of his mind.

“Peter! Peter, seriously! Did you see? Holy sh… I mean, holy hell!”

The werewolf rolled his eyes and simply grabbed the front of Stiles’ t-shirt, dragging him into the bedroom. It was a good thing the showdown happened right after school, because the boy was only wearing his lacrosse shorts; he wasn’t sure he would have the patience to deal with buttons right now.

Stiles was still whispering to himself when Peter threw him on the bed - naked and sweaty -, he landed on his back with an ‘ooph’ and just continued staring at the ceiling. Probably musing about his own badassary.

Peter had more important things in mind.

He threw his towel into a corner and then climbed over Stiles’ body, straddling his hips. Now  _that_ , that finally got a reaction.

“Wha…?”

He didn’t feel like letting Stiles finish, so he just reached back and grabbed the boy’s already hard cock - probably a result of equal amounts of adrenalin and terror - and fitted it to his hole. 

Stiles shut up - finally - hands flying to Peter’s hips, fluttering against his skin uncertainly.

The werewolf smiled, lowering himself to the dick underneath him. He was already slicked up, so it was a smooth, easy slide inside. Stiles’ eyes rolled back to his skull and his plush lips parted around a moan.

“Yes, I saw,” Peter said after taking in the boy’s cock to the root. He lifted himself up slowly before sinking back down. “It was hot.”

 

 


	9. Alan/Stiles - shrinking

[marithehighpriestessofmoloch](http://marithehighpriestessofmoloch.tumblr.com/) asked:

Ooh, can you write some Alan/Stiles (there really is way too little of that pairing by the way) and something with old magic books? They could be reading them together, or Stiles could want to borrow one, or he touched a cursed one or whatever. Anything will make me happy. Smut would be appreciated, though if you want you can do fluff instead...

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A/N: Hi, there! I hope you don’t mind that I went with fluffy… (I kind of needed to unwind a bit)

* * *

“Please tell me I’m dreaming,” Alan said, massaging the bridge of his nose. “It’s only been a week.”

“Just so you know, this definitely falls under ‘cruel and unusual’ punishment,” Stiles said, instead of replying - from where he was standing on the desk.

Why was he standing on the desk? Because he was only a foot tall now, that’s why.

“I distinctly remember telling you to keep away from the books in the cabinet,” the man said, acting like he didn’t even hear him, which was totally unfair.

“Hey, it’s not like I knew opening this damned thing would make me shrink to smurf-size.  _Why_ did it shrink me anyway? That’s a very dangerous thing to have lying around, you know. I could have fallen to my death and  _died!_ ”

Alan finally glanced down at him, dark eyes tired and kind of disappointed. Stiles didn’t like the look he was getting.

“It wasn’t ‘lying around’ it was in a locked cabinet that I’ve told you not to touch. And it’s a safety measure; that is a very powerful spell-book, I can’t let anyone take it.”

“So what? Whoever opens it gets scaled down? Actually… that’s pretty smart, there’s no way I would be able to get it out of here like this if I was a robber…” Stiles mused, trying to stir the conversation away from what he was actually doing messing around with said book.

“What the hell were you doing with it?”

Yeah, that didn’t work.

It was just. Since he moved in a week ago - things have been a little  _strained_. He understood that Alan needed his own space, but if they were really going to live together, they should at least try to include each-other in… things. He thought that he would only poke around a bit in the man’s library, he didn’t want to cause trouble, just to get a glimpse. Apparently he shouldn’t have.

But he couldn’t exactly tell Alan that he came spying because he was insecure, could he? 

“Well, I thought. Since, you know, we’re living together now… it’s not fair that you keep so many secrets!”

Alan raised an eyebrow at him, face otherwise unreadable, though there was a slight tightness around his eyes.

Shit, that’s not what he wanted to say.

“We are not living together yet,” the vet told him finally, “You are on probation, remember?”

Oh. Yeah. Shit.

Alan sighed, turning to the door just as Celeste poked her head in, eyes zeroing in on Stiles sitting on the edge of the desk. The miniature schnauzer immediately started growling.

“I have to get a few things from the clinic for the reverse spell,” Alan said, not even looking at Stiles as he walked out. “Stay on the desk and try not to get eaten!”

***

Alan was still feeling old and defeated an hour later when he got back from the clinic. He should have known that it was a stupid idea to let a twenty year old move in, but Stiles could be… persuasive

It wasn’t like he didn’t love the boy. It took some time to admit it to himself - and to the world - but there was no denying it. They were almost exact opposites, making half the pack suspect some kind of spell being involved when they finally came clean about being together… Maybe that was why things didn’t seem to be working, especially since Stiles moved in with him.

_Or_ he was just too old, too set in his ways to integrate someone relatively new into his life. He’d been living alone for as long as the boy was alive, for god’s sake, it was no wonder that it was hard to share the space he built for himself.

And there was Celeste too. The dog had been left leashed in front of the clinic a year ago, and he just couldn’t put her down, not even after he realized that she was the grumpiest, most unfriendly dog to ever grace his practice.

They came to terms with each other - even though Celeste still wouldn’t take her suspicious eyes off him whenever they were in the same room - but Stiles and the dog hated each other with a burning passion from the start. Alan had a feeling that the animal understood that Stiles wasn’t exactly giving her a compliment whenever he called her a ‘bearded lady’.

Well, he would deal with his relationship troubles later, first he had to transform his boyfriend back to life size.

He walked straight to the library and even though he wanted to, he wasn’t really surprised when he found it empty. The stars would probably threw themselves off the night sky in panic if Stiles ever obeyed an order.

He was just about to start shouting when he heard barking from the living room, making him pale with worry. It was entirely possible that Stiles would manage to get himself eaten by a miniature schnauzer.

He hurried towards the noise, but when he actually saw what was going on he just stood there, rooted in place.

“Onward, noble steed!” Stiles cried, holding onto Celeste’s collar for dear life.

The dog barked - or more like yipped - again and reared back on her hind legs before racing headfirst towards one of the thick pillows from the couch that  _somebody_ dragged down to the ground.

Stiles started screaming - unsurprisingly more with excitement than with horror - as Celeste kicked off and flew over the pillow like a real show-jumper.

The boy was laughing so hard when they landed, that he almost fell of the dog who was wagging her short little tail so enthusiastically that her whole body shook with it.

Alan couldn’t help hiding his own smile behind his palm. Apparently all his housemates needed to get along was a change in perspective.

Maybe he could do that too.


	10. Alan/Stiles - figging, spanking, daddy kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovely Annie (steters) asked me for spanking  
> +  
> anonymous asked: How about a figging and spanking scene in Room 27? Just imagine, Stiles tied up and plugged up with a giant piece of ginger, and how desperately he tries to get away while Alan spanks/hits him with a switch. Maybe Alan sticks some ice cubes in Stiles afterwards to sooth the burning, which is just as torturous. Basically, a crying and desperate Stiles with a red and bruise bum please!
> 
> A/N: This will NOT going to be part of the Room 27 verse, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway!

“Wow,” Stiles said, close to shaking out of his skin with left over adrenaline. “Wow, that was so cool.”

The others have already left the clinic - after being patched up by Alan as a result of their run-in with a fucking golem. It was only him and the vet left. 

The man had his back to him, working on something at the tiny kitchen island in the backroom of the clinic that he used for private purposes. It had a cooking corner, a small table an armchair and a small couch.

Stiles knew that Alan was angry - because apparently, not everyone though it was cool that he managed to perform that (supposedly highly dangerous) spell that had the golem fucking explode.

But still, it was fucking awesome.

“Sure,” the man said, clearly disagreeing.

Stiles couldn’t help bouncing around the small space, completely pumped. He didn’t like Alan being angry though, so he decided to change tactics.

“Oh, come on,  _daddy_ , don’t be like that! I did it! Isn’t that a good thing? You’ve been teaching me that spell for ages!” he whined.

[[MORE]]

This…  _thing_ between them, honestly, Stiles has no idea how it started. Well, actually, he did. 

Not long after they’ve started sleeping together behind everyone’s back they were just hanging out, talking. Then Stiles started going off about how Alan was acting like an exasperated dad with a pack of kids half the time… And then they were having sex, and the vet was calling him a ‘good boy’ and Stiles was calling him ‘daddy’ and… he never came that hard in his life.

This time, though, it just made Alan’s back tense further.

“Daddy?” Stiles asked, finally managing to stay still long enough to notice that he was, in fact, in trouble.

“I’m very cross with you,” the man told him. When he finally turned around there was a piece of… ginger? Yeah, a cleaned piece of ginger in his hand, carved into the shape of a but plug. 

Stiles frowned. To be honest, it wasn’t very intimidating, the thickest part of it was only as wide as two fingers. 

“Even Scott told you to stay back and only use the spell if there was no other solution. And what did you do? Marched right into the middle of a fight that the pack was  _winning_ , and did it anyways.”

Stiles shifted from one foot to the other, biting his lower lip uncertainly. Shit, Alan looked pissed off.

“Are… are you angry with me, daddy?” he asked carefully, stomach feeling heavy and churning.

The vet closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. When he looked at Stiles again, he didn’t seem so furious anymore.

“No, baby boy, I’m not angry, I’m just upset. If I were angry, I would tell you to go home until my head cleared enough to deal with you,” he said.

Stiles felt his cock twitch. He knew he was in trouble, but the implication that he would be ‘dealt with’ right now didn’t escape his notice.

“I think you’re in need of a good spanking,” the vet said firmly, motioning to the armchair. “Pull your pants down and wait for me there.”

It was clear that he was digging his own grave, but Stiles couldn’t help grinning.

“Daddy, I don’t think that’s the best way to turn me away from being reckless,” he said, hands already working on his belt.

“Well, I don’t think little boys should talk back to their daddies. And we will see if your opinion changes by the time we’re finished.”

Stiles seriously doubted that, but refrained from commenting.

Alan put the cutting board and the knife he used in the sink and sat down, patting his knee without a word. Stiles didn’t waste time and practically threw himself over the man’s lap. He was long ago over being embarrassed by his enjoyment of getting spanked.

The vet grabbed his hips and tugged his body, until Stiles was in the position he wanted; balanced over his thighs with only his palms and the balls of his feet touching the ground.

Stiles knew he was in trouble, if he tried to reach back, he would topple forward, so he had to keep his hands on the floor.

Alan barely waited for him to get comfortable before his palm made contact, smacking his left ass cheek hard. Stiles cried out, practically feeling his skin turn pink from it.

“What are we saying, Stiles?” the vet asked, gentling the sting with a caress.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Very good. But before we continue, let’s get to the punishment part,” he said, making the boy frown. A second later Alan was holding two finger to his mouth.

“Suck, baby boy.”

He did, taking care to cover the digits with a generous amount of saliva. He still didn’t feel very regretful, so he sneaked his tongue between the man’s fingers, teasing at the sensitive skin there.

“None of that, now. You were a naughty boy, and naughty boys don’t get to play,” Alan chided, pulling his hand away and promptly pushing the slicked up fingers into his hole.

It wasn’t too bad. Just a little stretch - because nowadays, Stiles could proudly say that he was having regular sex.

“Have you ever heard about figging, baby boy?” the man asked, pumping into him lazily.

“Ah… no.”

“What was that?”

“No, daddy,” Stiles said, correcting his mistake. His daddy liked when he spoke politely.

“That’s my boy… Figging, according to some sources, was a punishment in the Victorian era. Apparently, inserting pealed ginger into the anus, or vagina is wonderfully effective in correcting the behavior of young girls and boys.”

Stiles frowned, but before he could ask anything, Alan was already inserting the ginger into his hole.

He cried out, eyes watering, as he felt his insides start to burn. It was so intense, that he almost fell off the man’s lap in his need to escape the sensation - it was only thanks to a firm hand being planted on the small of his back that he didn’t topple over. He started shaking. It hurt, it felt like someone set a fire in him.

His cock - hanging fat and useless between Alan’s knees jerked, and drooled a large drop of precome to the floor.

It took a minute for his heart to slow down, but slowly the burning subsided until it was just on the border of pleasant and too much. He could manage that.

“Well, baby? Do you like the ginger?” Alan asked. Stiles couldn’t help feeling like there was more to it, but he waved the thought away.

“Y-yeah, daddy. It’s hot.”

“Hm… I bet it is. Now, I’m going to give you twelve strokes. You are going to count and you are going to thank me for every single one of the, like a good boy. Understood?”

“Yes, daddy,” Stiles said dutifully. Twelve wasn’t even that bad. Of course, it depended on how hard Alan would hit, but it wasn’t bad at all.

The first strike sent him screaming.

It wasn’t even the strength, but as soon as it landed and his muscles clenched in reaction the burning flared up, setting his nerve endings on fire.

“I didn’t hear you,” Alan prompted.

Stiles sniffled, gulping in air.

“O-one. Thank… Thank you, daddy.”

The man waited until the searing sensation ebbed away before hitting him again. Stiles, even though he already realized how it worked, couldn’t control his reflex - his muscles tightened and the burn was back again, bright and painful.

“Ah… ah. Shit, shit. Fuck. Two. Thank you, daddy.”

“Language,” Alan said, barely giving him time to breath before spanking him again.

* * *

Stiles was a sobbing mess by ten.

The vet was waiting him out, caressing his butt gently, even as Stiles felt like he was on fire on the inside. He still had to count it out, but he was crying too hard.

“Come on, baby boy. You know what you have to do. You don’t want to start over, do you?”

“T… Ten. Ah. Daddy, daddy please… Thank you,” he stuttered out finally, his whole body was tense, like he was about to break, even though he knew he should be trying to relax.

“Please what? Do you want to tell me something?” the man asked. His fingers wandered on his ass, sliding down his crack and carefully nudging the plug.

Stiles moaned, head hanging between his shoulders in defeat.

“I’m so… so sorry daddy, please… please stop.”

“Oh? What are you sorry for, baby boy?” Alan asked, pulling the ginger out an inch and then letting his hole suck it back. He was going to die. His ass was burning.

“I… I’ve been bad. I’ve been a bad boy. But… ah… daddy, daddy I won’t do it again… I promise…” Stiles forced out between sobs. He just wanted Alan to let him up and hug him and make the burning go away.

He could feel the man thinking about it, his fingers paused, holding onto the base of the plug.

“Well, if you are absolutely sure, that you’ve learned your lesson…” 

“Yes! Yes, daddy, please! I will… I will be a good boy. S-such a good boy for you daddy,” Stiles pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for Alan to decide.

“Alright,” the man said finally, gently pulling the ginger out. Stiles thought he will shake apart just from sheer relief.

Alan sneaked an arm around his chest and pulled, manhandling him until Stiles was curled up in his lap, holding into the vet’s shirt for dear life.

“I guess, you took it well. I like it when boys admit their mistakes. Would you like to come, baby?” he asked, holding him close.

Stiles almost forgot about his dick, even though it was still hard and leaking. Now that Alan mentioned it, all he could think about was coming.

“Yeah, yeah, daddy, make me come please? Pretty please?” he begged, voice scratchy.

The man hummed, reaching down and dipping two fingers into his poor, oversensitive hole. Stiles hissed, the burning flaring up again, but before he could move away they were already gone. Alan took his cock in his hand, smearing the wetness on his fingers around the head.

Stiles screamed, but there was no sound coming out of his mouth as he felt that same burn light his dick on fire. Alan jerked him quickly, squeezing the head on the upstrokes, making everything worse. Better. He couldn’t think… And then, he was coming.

His daddy held him though it, murmuring soothingly into his hair.


	11. Alan/Stiles - hypnosis, mind control, coming untouched (watersports)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Hypnosis/subtle mind control's always a winning kink for me, especially when it's over a period of time where the recipient is trained into it.  
> +  
> Anonymous said: Being trained to come untouched, that is, nothing touching any part of, in this case, Stiles’ body. Being talked to orgasm/coming on command that is triggered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Kinks and warnings: Mind control, coming untouched, manipulation, training, watersports (off-screen, not in a sexual manner).

Alan liked having Stiles as an apprentice. Even when he was annoying and hyperactive he was a quick study and brighter than most.

But, most of all, he loved how easily he took to hypnotism.

It started simply enough. The boy had a problem with concentration. They’ve tried different meditation techniques, but non of them worked quite the way they wanted. And well, to work the kind of spells the pack needed, Stiles had to have better control of his magic.

Alan didn’t even had to offer, he just left a book in a strategic place and then waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Only two days later Stiles was asking him if maybe hypnosis was the way to go, and if he could perform it.

Alan could, of course.

* * *

He was smart about it. God knew, the pack needed all the help they could get  and the boy did have some potential, so he started their first sessions with actually helping Stiles to concentrate his spark. Alan always believed in having all his work done before getting to the fun part.

When they were finished with the regular training, he lit the incense he made specifically for Stiles before continuing.

He started simple.

“Stiles, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” came the immediate, toneless reply.

“I want you to concentrate. Can you smell the incense?” he asked, opening his legs to get a bit more comfortable.

“Yes.”

“Very good. Whenever you can smell that scent, you will call me Master.”

The boy’s brow twitched, but it smoothed out soon enough.

“Yes, Master.”

“That’s right. Now, tell me what you were thinking about when you jerked off last time…”

* * *

For the first few weeks he spent their twice-a-week sessions with helping to improve Stiles’ magical control and to listen to every single sexual fantasy and fetish the boy ever even considered. Research was important.

Stiles was unsurprisingly perverted, though Alan suspected that the boy didn’t even know about half the things that his subconscious found arousing.

He made sure never to overdo things - both with the helping and with the conditioning - he wanted Stiles to be his ‘patient’ for a long, long time. Thankfully, the boy was impressed with the results, and didn’t even think about stopping the sessions.

Alan decided that it was time to step things up a bit.

* * *

When they were finished with the necessities he lit the incense - like he did every time they were doing this - and sat back.

“How are you doing, Stiles?”

“Good, Master.” The boy got used to his title fast. It was a pleasure to hear it.

“Excellent. I’m going to give you a bit of homework.” Alan waited to see if there was any resistance, but Stiles remained deep in hypnosis.

“Whenever you jerk off your cock, the next time you fall asleep, you are going to wet yourself.”

Stiles twitched. Not waking up, but obviously having a hard time with the order.

“It’s completely fine. All you have to do is let go and piss,” he coaxed. He trusted his own abilities and Stiles’ naughtiness, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Yes, Master,” the boy said finally, the tent in his pants telling. Of course, Alan knew that Stiles had a thing for watersports - no matter how deep he buried it - just like he knew that he almost always jerked off before going to bed.

“Very good.”

* * *

The next week was interesting. Alan didn’t change his order, instead he made Stiles tell him in detail during his sessions how embarrassed and humiliated he felt every morning when he woke up in a soiled bed. It was fun. When he was out of the hypnosis Stiles seemed disturbed, obviously worried by what was happening to him. Alan found great joy in seeing him reassure his friends that he was okay.

Of course - just like expected - he didn’t tell anyone of his sudden incontinence. The next step was easy.

“Stiles.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tonight, you are going to jerk off again, and wake up in a wet bed,” he said. They repeated the order every time. Practice makes perfect, after all.

“Yes, Master.”

“In the morning, you will realize that your condition has to do with masturbation.” It was time to get his boy in line. “From tomorrow, you will be too scared of wetting the bet, and you will stop touching yourself completely.”

Logic was important. If Alan just straight up ordered him to stop - even though he would do it - he would probably realize that something or someone was forcing his hand. He didn’t want the boy to grow suspicious.

Stiles frowned, nose scrunched up adorably. That just wouldn’t do.

“Stiles, this is very important. Who am I?”

“Master,” he replied immediately.

“Yes, good. And who’s master am I?”

“My Master.”

“Yes. Stiles, you will be too scared to masturbate from tomorrow.” A bit of reminder of their positions was needed on occasion.

“Yes, Master,” Stiles said, face smoothing out.

“Very good.”

* * *

Alan wasn’t a werewolf, but even he could almost smell the frustration radiating off Stiles during the following weeks. But, the boy was doing as he was told, completely ignorant that he was acting under someone else’s orders.

The summer break was fast approaching, just in time. On one hand, Stiles had more time to spend training with him, and on the other, - thanks to his sexual frustration - his performance as an emissary-in-training fell considerably.

When Stiles asked him to have hypnosis sessions five times a week instead of the previous two, Alan reluctantly agreed.

The more often Stiles went under the easier it became. For the untrained eye, it would have seemed like he was more aware during, but Alan knew that he became more animated because slipping into the head-space Alan created was becoming natural for him.

“Stiles.”

“Yes, Master?” 

Alan liked the way his voice gained some tone with all the practice he was having. He was sure soon he would be able to have him performing tasks when he was under. He couldn’t wait.

“How are you doing? Did you want to have an orgasm today?”

“Yes, Master. I could barely think about anything else. When I went out to have a coffee with Lydia, all I could do was imagining her naked.”

“That’s wonderful. After you wake up from our session, the need will be even worse. You are going to have an erection.”

“Yes, Master,” Stiles said, pants already tenting. He almost always got a hard-on these days, but usually Alan made him lose it before waking him up. Not today, though.

“You are going to apologize to me, you will feel very humiliated”

“Yes, Master.”

“When you go home, you are going to be so horny, that you won’t be able to stop yourself. But, you will be still too scared to touch your cock. You are going to take some lube, and finger your asshole.”

Stiles actually moaned before giving his usual confirmation. That was good.

“You are going to finger yourself until you come. Since you won’t touch your cock, you won’t have to wet the bed. Is that understood?” He knew that Stiles, even though he was bisexual, never experimented with anal-play before. But, since he thought he couldn’t touch his cock, it was the next logical thing.

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Oh, that was just adorable. He loved seeing Stiles slowly fitting into the mold of a perfect little submissive.

“You are  _very_ welcome.”

* * *

The next week, Alan adjusted his orders a bit. Stiles could jerk off, if his conscious self wanted, but it would still result in him wetting the bed. The boy needed the negative reinforcement to accept his quickly growing anal obsession better. The results were spectacular.

Stiles told him that he jerked of twice, and on both occasion he spent his morning shower crying over the fact that he pissed himself. 

Alan thought it was time to proceed.

During his sessions he had Stiles show him how exactly he touched his hole. It was beautiful to see the boy spread out on his couch, thighs wide open as he fingered himself.

He let him come and then carefully cleaned him before the session was over.

Gradually, he directed the boy to react to his voice. First, he calmly talked through his anal masturbation. The next time, he told Stiles to stop before he came, and then to come at his command. After that, he only let the boy push one finger into his ass, and then just talked at him until he came.

In two weeks, he was able to make Stiles have an orgasm just from the sound of his voice.

“Stiles, did you touch your nipples as I told you?”

The boy was lying on the sofa, completely dressed, except that his cock was hanging out of his fly with a condom rolled over it. He was already hard - had been since he first smelled the incense.

“Yes, Master. It felt really good.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“I started as soon as I was in bed. I felt like I would die from needing to touch them, just like you said I would,” His cock was twitching at the reminder, relieving the memory. “First, I was just rubbing them, but then I wanted more… I started to pinch them and pull on them… It was really good. I almost couldn’t hold on until my fingers were in my ass to come.”

Stiles was breathing hard, hands clenching and unclenching by his side, but he made no move to touch himself.

“That sounds wonderful. And how are they feeling today?”

“They are sore, Master. I got a hard-on just from getting my shirt on in the morning.”

Alan smiled. He could imagine.

The boy wasn’t very inclined to nipple play, but it was one of Alan’s favorite parts of the human anatomy, so they’ve been paying it special attention. By now, Stiles loved to play with them almost religiously. It was part of his routine.

“How lovely. Would you like me to play with them?”

“Y-yes, Master.” Amazingly, Stiles was already close. Even though Alan already knew that this was the best age to train a boy - horny, impressionable teenager and all -, he was still astounded by how well his little plaything was reacting.

“I could bite them for you, dig my teeth deep into those pink little buds…”

“Master…” Stiles was panting hard, his cock red and painfully hard as it jerked on his stomach from time to time.

“Would you like to come?” They have been working on the manners too.

“Yes! Yes, Master, please… Please let me come…”

Alan considered him for a few seconds, committing Stiles’ flushed, desperate face to memory.

“Alright, you may come.”

He watched the boy’s body arch off the couch, shaking as pleasure washed over him and the condom filled with his release.

Alan humming under his breath, feeling content, and optimistic about the future.

Having an apprentice was really wonderful.


	12. Alan/Stiles - sex ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Prompt: Sex ritual. It's the only trope Stalan has so far, and I don't remember if you've done it already.

Stiles shivered, voice trembling slightly.

Doctor Deaton’s body was hot behind his own, even though they were both clothed.

“Concentrate, Stiles, I would rather we succeeded on the first try,” he whispered. 

Stiles paused for a second and took a deep breath.

It wasn’t easy to read a three pages long incantation while his mentor jacked him off, but alas. 

Apparently,  _fucking_ sex magic was a thing.

Doctor Deaton squeezed the head of his cock on the next upstroke in warning. He had to finish reading before he came. 

He blinked down at the cup in front of him. It was already filled with other ingredients, only needing the caster’s seed - spiced up with the magic in the spell.

Doctor Deaton’s hand didn’t stop. If it did, they would have to start again.

Stiles closed his eyes for a second and then continued reading.

“Very good,” came the praise quietly from behind him, and it made something twitch in the pit of his stomach. He read faster.

* * *

Seriously. When they realized what they had to do for the potion that would help them find the night-terror demon that plagued Beacon Hills, he didn’t think they would succeed. He didn’t even think they would be able to start, because he never felt anything towards Doctor Deaton, except for a hefty amount of respect and the occasional burst of exasperation.

But, he was wrong.

Before they started, he told the vet that he didn’t think he could get it up - partly from the nerves, and partly from the lack of interest - but he just a raised an eyebrow and continued mixing the other ingredients.

When it was time, he told Stiles to stand by the table, with the small cup positioned before him, and then stepped in close.

“Don’t start reading before you are erect,” he said, and the confidence in his voice - that there  _would_ be an erection - made Stiles’ heart beat a fraction faster.

The man gave him the text of the incantation and then opened the button of his jeans, reaching inside with sure, but gentle fingers to scoop out Stiles’ cock.

He tried telling himself that it was only the fact that someone - anyone - was touching him that made him twitch on the first contact of skin to skin.

The vet didn’t waste time, he squirted some lube into his palm and then took Stiles in his hand, stroking his cock long and slow.

It was… surprisingly good.

Stiles never had anyone jerk him off before. Yeah, he had sex, but that was more a race to the finish line, with a lot of fumbling and elbows in awkward places. His partner, a girl he met at Jungle - god bless bisexual night - haven’t bothered with giving him a hand-job. Not like he’d needed it; as soon as her bra came of Stiles had been ready to go.

Anyway.

Having someone else’s hand around his dick was a new experience. Stiles was - of course - pretty familiar with his own cock. He knew exactly how to get himself to come fast and hard or how to drag it out until there was sweat sliding down along his spine. 

Maybe that was the reason why it felt somehow more intimate to have Doctor Deaton’s fingers squeezing down around his length, rough fingertips swiping over the head of his cock than fucking a stranger.

He shivered, trying to hold himself in check and then started to read.

* * *

There was only three paragraphs left of the spell when Stiles had to reach down and grab the vet’s wrist to gentle his hand. He was on the edge already.

He thought he should be ashamed that it was so easy, that he was so responsive to a man’s touch who was old enough to be his father, but he couldn’t find it in himself. It was too good. It was amazing.

He never thought of his mentor as a sexual being - what with the constant aloofness and all - but now, now all he wanted was to come, to be brought off by him, but he had to finish the incantation first.

Doctor Deaton caught his warning and relaxed his fist. He couldn’t stop, but he did slow down, fingers sliding lightly on Stiles’ slick skin.

He swallowed and continued reading, not even noticing that he was still holding onto to that strong, brown wrist.

The man hooked his chin over his shoulder to see how much was left.

Just a couple of lines.

Stiles knew that the timing was important. He had to come right after the last word for the spell to work, and as the time grew closer he could feel his breath grow quicker, heart beating fast and steady.

When he reached the last words Doctor Deaton took hold of his hip with his free hand and slotted their bodies together, letting him feel the thick hardness in the man’s trousers rubbing against his ass.

Stiles had to moan and close his eyes, incantation forgotten.

The vet’s hips jerked a few times, almost uncousciously and the knowledge that he was just as affected as Stiles was from what was happening was maddening.

“Say it,” Doctor Deaton whispered into his ear, lips brushing against his earlobe and making him shiver.

Stiles made himself open his eyes to read the last word of the spell, and as soon as the last consonant left his lips he could feel the man’s hand tightening around his cock, thumb digging in just right to the underside of the head.

* * *

Stiles almost collapsed as he came, the only thing keeping him upright being Doctor Deaton’s arm grabbing him around the chest.

He was helped into a chair, spent cock carefully tucked back into his jeans by now familiar hands.

The vet stood, looking down at him with dark eyes.

“Beautifully done, Stiles. Beautifully done.”


	13. Peter/Stiles (Derek/Stiles) - cuckolding, humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Prompt! Peter mind controls Stiles into a naughty slut and convining him to cheat on Derek with him and then continuing to cuckold Derek. Maybe also mind controlling Derek so he knows about the relationship and is humiliated but cant do anything to stop Peter and Stiles rubbing it in his face. Peter also having a much biggest dick than Stiles.
> 
> A/N: I hope you don’t mind, but I took some liberties with this prompt, so it won’t be exactly as you requested it!

Stiles had no idea how they got here.

Well, he knew how they got here physically. But like, to this point in their relationship.

This wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be. There was no way that in any sane relationship it would be acceptable for him to get fucked by his boyfriend’s uncle while his boyfriend watched them on Skype.

Peter took that moment to grab his hips and yank him back to his cock.

Stiles couldn’t stop moaning. Shit, Peter was huge. Bigger than anything he ever had, definitely bigger than…

Derek made a sound like he was wounded, and Stiles’ eyes snapped open to look at his laptop sitting on a chair at the end of the bed.

Derek looked… Stiles didn’t even know. He looked turned on and horrified and completely disheveled, even though he was hundreds of miles away.

Peter noticed that he was distracted and slapped his ass hard enough that Stiles could feel the individual imprints of his fingers. He moaned again, unable to keep his voice down.

“Now, this is a sweet, tight little ass,” Peter said, slapping him again, a bit lighter. In the mirror of the screen Stiles could see the ghost-image of the man admiring the way his ass bounced from the hit, overlaying Derek’s face at the end of the feed.

“Shit,” Derek said quietly from the laptop.

Peter grinned up at him. 

“Well, of course it’s no wonder he feels like a virgin, when all he had so far was your little weeny,” he said, laughing when Derek groaned, face flushing bright.

Peter stopped, moving his hips in a circle and just grinding the thick head of his dick into Stiles’ insides.

“Come on, tell my dear nephew how it feels to have a real man fucking you,” he said, doing it again, until Stiles’ eyes rolled back into his head.

Stiles’ elbows gave out, and his chest fell to the bed. He hid his face in his arms, but shit. He could never shut up in bed.

“So… ah, f-fuck. So good, Derek. He’s so big…”

Peter, of course, wasn’t satisfied, he grabbed Stiles’ hair and jerked his head up until his neck was bent painfully.

“Now, now. I want you to talk nice and clear. We wouldn’t want Derek to miss a word, now, would we?”

Stiles panted, mouth hanging open as the man started to thrust into him again, jarring his whole body. Derek… Derek couldn’t stop staring at the vulnerable stretch of his throat.

“Come now, use that slutty mouth of yours for something useful,” Peter said, gripping him stronger. Shit, that will leave bruises.

“It… It’s never been so good, Derek. I love it. He’s so big it almost hurts and my ass keeps twitching,” Stiles said, finishing on something that was close to a sob. The worst part was that he wasn’t even lying.

Derek shifted in his seat, just a tiny bit, but it didn’t skip Peter’s attention.

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare whip that little pencil out. You can rub one out when you’re alone in the dark where it belongs,” he said, yanking Stiles up until both of them were kneeling. “You can jerk off to the memory of your sweet boyfriend moaning on my cock, like the pathetic idiot you are.”

He wrapped a hand around Stiles’ chest, grabbing his shoulder from the front to have enough leverage to really jam his dick home on every thrust, and used the other to pinch Stiles’ nipple,  _hard_.

Stiles moaned, eyes slipping shut with the electric bolt of pleasure-pain that went straight to his cock. His hands acted on their own, one flying up to pull Peter’s head against his neck, the other to squeeze his balls, because… fuck. He was already so close to coming.

Peter snorted, licking up his neck with a bit too much saliva, making Stiles shiver.

“See that, dear nephew? That’s how someone should look while they are being fucked. Did you even manage to get him half-hard when you were doing him? I mean, obviously, he’s easy, but still. I have a hard time believing anyone would consider you a good lay, unless they were really, really desperate…” 

He looked straight into Derek’s eyes as he bent his head and bit into Stiles neck, hard enough to leave an already purpling set of teeth marks. Stiles screamed, back arching. It was too much. Too good.

Peter’s hips were moving so hard and so fast, that Stiles felt his head growing dizzy with the way his whole body kept being jostled around. His cock was so hard, pointing forward, straight to the screen where his boyfriend was watching. Watching him get the fuck of a lifetime.

“Gonna come now, you little slut? I’m going to give it to you real good, make you shoot your load without ever touching your dick, but you have to start talking…”

Stiles swallowed. There was barely enough air in the room to breath, he didn’t want to waste it on talking, but… 

“Derek. Derek, I’m… I’m going to come. I’m going to come so hard. It will be so good. He - ah… shit, shit- he’s ramming his cock into my prostate, it’s so good, it’s  _amazing_ …” Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and Peter awarded him with making good on his promise, and fucking him almost violently.

When Stiles came, he nearly blacked out, but Peter continued to piston into him anyway. It almost hurt, he was too sensitive and his ass kept clenching down with the aftershocks around the man’s massive cock.

He only opened his eyes when Peter finally stilled, shooting his load so deep into him, that Stiles wasn’t sure it would ever even come out. His gaze fell on the laptop. Derek was still there, face pale but mouth open as he breathed heavily. The screen was covered in Stiles’ come.

Peter grabbed him, pulling and prodding on his body, until he was turned around, ass towards the small camera. He moaned as he felt his ass cheeks getting parted.

His hole was still spasming, trying to close on empty air.

“Now, Derek,” Peter said, hooking a finger into Stiles’ sloppy, loose opening and pulling it downward, spreading his ass even more. “I want you to remember this, because you sure as hell won’t be seeing his slutty hole so fucked out, if it’s up to you.”

Derek actually  _whined_.

Well, - Stiles thought dizzily - Derek had no one else to blame, the whole thing was his idea.


	14. Alan/Stiles - continuation of chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel for chapter 11!  
> Kinks and warnings: fisting, mind-control, hypnosis, non-con, heavy watersports, Peter

It didn’t take long for Alan to get bored by getting Stiles off with merely a command. He wanted the boy completely corrupted, to the point of no return. He hoped it would be entertaining.

He started by making him believe that simply fingering himself when he masturbated just wasn’t enough anymore. Where - at first - Stiles could come with just two fingers massaging his prostate, soon enough Alan had him fisting himself every night.

Of course, sometimes he made Stiles demonstrate it during the sessions. It was tremendously satisfying to watch that slender wrist be swallowed by Stiles’ naughty hole that grew steadily hungrier. 

It was all a question of training and giving careful instruction to make sure that Stiles didn’t get suspicious of himself.

Alan knew that Stiles was a true pervert under the thin layer of normality society expected of him, so it wasn’t hard to just bring those things to the surface. After Stiles was comfortable with jamming his whole hand up his ass daily, Alan told him that even  _that_ wasn’t enough anymore.

He had been working on Stiles’ nipples for a while, so he added them to the mix. Soon enough the only way the boy could reach orgasm was with his fist up his ass and a pair of clothespins biting into his nipples.

Alan wasn’t ashamed that he had to pleasure himself whenever he made Stiles recount his masturbation ritual. 

But, he wanted more. He expect Stiles to suffer a bit from slowly turning into such a pervert, but he underestimated the boy. He took to his new tastes surprisingly -  _disappointingly_ \- well. Alan wanted him humiliated and broken. He had to think for quite a while to figure out something that he could add to his long list of subtle commands, but when he found it, he was sure it would work.

* * *

After he lit the incense, Alan carefully undid Stiles’ jeans and slid the boy’s cock into a long necked bedpan. 

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Master,” came the immediate reply. Stiles’ dick was already filling, though it stayed pointing downwards, thanks to the bedpan.

“Good, today, I will tell you something you didn’t know.”

Stiles didn’t react. Alan had to watch him carefully if he wanted this to work.

“Some people find urinating extremely satisfying,” he said. As long as his voice was confident enough, Stiles wouldn’t doubt the truth of his words, no matter how much bullshit he was making up. “I think you are one of them.”

Not even a twitch. Good. By now Stiles was so accustomed to the hypnosis, that it would have been hard to jostle him out of it, but caution never hurt.

“In fact, urinating right after orgasm feels like coming continuously.”

Stiles was completely hard, face flushed. Alan knew that his deeply hidden penchant for watersports was one thing that Stiles was ashamed of, that’s why it worked so well as a repellent when he wanted him to stop touching his cock.

“I want you to imagine it, Stiles. Right after you reach orgasm, your bladder opens up and you urinate with your penis still hard.”

“Y-yes, Master,” Stiles said, voice breathy.

“It feels amazing, like nothing you ever experienced, urinating after orgasm is like one long, intense wave of pleasure washing over you. Do you want to experience that, Stiles?”

“Yes, Master…” the boy said, trailing off as his cock twitched against the bedpan.

“Very well, I will let you…  _Come_.”

As simple as that, Stiles’ back arched off the couch, his dick shooting out a nice, big load of come into the bedpan, it barely hit the bottom of the container and he was already pissing. Alan couldn’t help adjust himself as he saw his dirty, perverted boy practically convulsing from the pleasure - even though it was only in his head, for him it must have felt like he was having one giant, overwhelming orgasm.

There were actually tears on his face by the time he finished emptying his bladder. Alan carefully took the bedpan away and tucked him back into his jeans while Stiles’ breathing evened out a bit.

“Did you enjoy that, Stiles?”

“Yes, Master… it… it was amazing,” he whispered, muscles relaxed in satisfaction.

“Excellent. Do you want to feel like that again?”

“Yes, please, Master!”

Alan had to chuckle at the enthusiasm. He loved that Stiles had no inhibitions while he was hypnotized.

“That’s great, because from now on, whenever you reach orgasm, you will experience it again.”

“Thank you, Master,” Stiles said, sounding almost awed. Really, he was too good to be true.

“You won’t even have to think about it - actually, you won’t be able to stop it, understood?” Alan watched closely, but there was no sign of resistance on Stiles face.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Your orgasm will automatically trigger your bladder to let go, and it will be so pleasurable that it’s going to drive you mad.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Alan smiled.

* * *

Alan couldn’t get enough of it. Stiles described everything to him during their sessions; how shocked and ashamed and scared he’d been the first time when it happened while he masturbated - fisting himself and torturing his own nipples - only to start pissing all over himself as soon as he came. According to him, he actually blacked out form the pleasure. 

When he was awake, Stiles was disturbed, thoughts preoccupied by his ‘worsening’ condition, and just looking at his face when he thought nobody was looking was enough to get Alan hard. He started jerking off into Stiles mouth while he was under hypnosis, telling him that it was a reward for being so good, and eventually made it possible for the boy to reach orgasm just from the taste of his jizz.

Of course, he was having such a pleasant time, that it had to end somewhere.

* * *

If anyone had to find out, Alan was glad that it was Peter. It was lucky that he had always been careful, questioning Stiles about anything unusual, so he knew in time that Peter was subtly asking questions about their daily meetings. Alan was kind of annoyed that werewolves were not very receptive of hypnosis - it would have been fun to get another little puppet.

Instead, he decided to be proactive, and shot a text to Peter inviting him to their next session without Stiles’ knowledge.

They were just finishing with the normal part of the hypnosis when Peter slipped though the door. Alan held his finger to his mouth, in the clear signal of silence, and the werewolf nodded in understanding. 

While Alan busied himself with lighting the usual incense, Peter sat down into the other armchair, watching Stiles’ prone form with hungry eyes. Alan was pretty sure they would come to an agreement.

Peter scrunched up his nose as the smell of herbal smoke filled the air, but didn’t say anything, glancing at Alan expectantly.

Well, he was in for a show.

“Stiles.”

“Yes, Master.”

Peter made a small sound in the back of his throat, but thankfully it was low enough not to register with the boy.

“Tell me about yesterday night. Did you have fun?”

Stiles licked his lips before answering, pants growing tight.

“Yes, Master. I had to masturbate in the bathroom, because I didn’t have any more clean sheets.”

Peter arched an eyebrow in question, but Alan just waved at him to wait.

“My asshole is getting so loose, that it only took a bit of prep to get my fist in. I tried to fuck myself on it, like you instructed, but the angle was too awkward,” the boy said. Peter shifted in his seat, “I thought that I should buy myself some larger toys.”

Alan hummed.

“Maybe you could get a pair of real nipple clamps too…” he suggested. He had nothing against Stiles getting some equipment.

Stiles gave a little half-moan.

“I like the clothespins. I stole a couple of new ones form our neighbor’s line, because they have stronger grips. They hurt so much when I put them on, that I almost came from just that.”

“Very good, continue,” Alan instructed, rubbing his crotch with his palm. He loved the next part.

Stiles’ face was red - whether it was from arousal or the humiliating memory - Alan didn’t care.

“I… I put the clothespins on and started to move my fist as much as I could. I was kneeling in the tub…” he had to take a few moments to collect himself, pants tented obscenely. “I thought about being an attraction at a circus freeakshow, just like you said, I thought about people shouting at me that I was disgusting while I showed them how much my ass can stretch…”

“Continue,” Alan said, when it seemed like the boy was too caught up in the memory.

“Then - ah - when I came… it was so good, Master, I started pissing right after… I… didn’t faint from it this time, but my whole body was jerking like I was electrocuted. It was so… it was so good, Master.”

Alan had to smirk. Peter had his cock out, stroking it slow and intent.

“That’s wonderful, Stiles. How did you feel afterwards?” Alan asked, pulling down his own zipper and fisting his cock.

The boy was obviously on the verge of coming, so it took some time for him to form a reply.

“I… I was so humiliated. I just sat there, in a pool of my own piss and cried. But I have… I have started to get aroused just from the smell of it… and I had to… I had to do it again…”

That was interesting.

“Really? Twice in one night?”

“Yeah… Yes, Master. I was so tired after, even though I couldn’t piss that much the second time. But I felt so ashamed that I cried myself to sleep.”

Alan looked at Peter. Maybe it was time they took this to the next level… 

“Stiles. I want you to stand up and get rid of your clothes.”

They did that sometimes, so the command wasn’t unfamiliar to the boy. He did as he was told, standing up and taking off his clothing methodically. He didn’t look much like himself when he was following orders, more like a machine, but that would soon be over.

Peter watched the boy, eyes flashing blue from time to time - a testament of how worked up he was getting.

“Very good, Stiles. I want you to lay on the floor and pull your legs up. Show me that insatiable hole of yours.”

They never did that before, but Stiles didn’t seem fazed, he lay down without a word, doing exactly as instructed.

Alan gestured for Peter to get between the boy’s thighs. The werewolf grinned at him, catching the small pack of lube Alan threw at him effortlessly.

He didn’t waste time, as soon as he was in position he opened the pack and pushed three fingers into Stiles’ exposed hole. For a second Alan was worried that the suddenness of the sensation would wake the boy, but he was wrong. Aside from a small frown, he didn’t even twitch.

“Stiles. you are going to get fucked for the first time,” Alan told him. The boy’s mouth parted into a perfect little 'o’. Adorable, really.

“You will stay under the whole time, but when Peter’s knot gets locked in your hole, you will wake up from the hypnosis. Is that understood?”

Stiles seemed a bit confused, but not enough to stop him form giving a nod firmly.

“A knot is around the same size as a fist, so your hole will be very satisfied with it. When Peter pinches your nipples it will feel so good, that you are going to reach orgasm.”

“Thank you, Master,” Stiles said. Peter snorted.

The werewolf made quick work of preparation, and a few seconds after Alan finished talking, he was already fucking Stiles with abandon. It was obvious that the boy was enjoying himself. In fact, his cock was leaking a steady stream of precome.

“I’m close,” Peter said in warning. The unfamiliar voice made Stiles’ eyelashes flutter, but so close to the end, it didn’t really matter.

“Go on, but expect this to be messy,” Alan told him.

Peter grinned, he grabbed the boy’s hips and lifted them as much as he could with his cock still in.

Oh.

It was a good thing Alan made Stiles drink a whole bottle before they’ve began. He started stripping his cock faster as he saw Peter’s knot slowly starting to form.

When it finally caught on the ring of muscle, the effect was instantaneous.   
Stiles jerked, eyes snapping wide open as he stared up at Peter fucking him.

After being frozen for a second, he started to struggle but the werewolf didn’t give him much of a chance, he grabbed Stiles nipples and twisted hard enough to make him scream.

The boy’s orgasm was so powerful that his come practically exploded out of him, splattering across his chin and neck and a second later he was  _peeing_. 

tiles eyes rolled back into his head, body convulsing as the incredible pleasure washed over him. Peter grabbed the boy’s still hard cock and adjusted it, making the yellow stream of urine hit Stiles right in the face, washing over his reddened cheeks and splashing into his slack, open mouth.

Alan came with the sound of Peter’s laughter ringing in his ears.


	15. Chris/Peter/Stiles - surprise!slutty Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Oooh Can you write a Peter/Chris/stiles fic where Peter and Chris think Stiles would be shy in bed but find out the opposite is true?

They didn’t do it too often.

But sometimes… sometimes they needed to spice things up a little. It wasn’t about the fire between them going out, but occasionally they both carved something new, - unknown - something different than the well mapped nooks and crannies of each-other’s bodies.

They rarely went clubbing, but there were a few bars that had enough life to give them what they needed.

Sometimes, there were surprises.

* * *

Chris and Peter spotter the kid almost at the same time. He was sticking out like a sore thumb with his buzzed hair and oversized flannel shirt. But, he was young and cute with an upturned nose and gangly limbs.

Peter looked at his husband from the corner of his eyes.

“What do you think?”

Chris took a sip of his beer, shifting closer to Peter as they were leaning against the wall.

“Isn’t  he too young?”

Peter couldn’t help snorting, Chris could never leave his moral compass at home.

“If he got through the bouncer, he’s old enough,” he said, kicking away from the wall as he saw the kid head towards the bar.

Chris followed, and whatever he was saying, Peter could see that he was keen on the boy.

* * *

Peter watched the blue jeep following them from the mirror as Chris drove to the house, leading the way. He had to admit that the kid was smart. He wanted to drive his own car and asked for the address in advance - Peter had no doubt that he sent it to someone who would call the cops in case he was found in a ditch. Peter liked smart boys.

“I don’t think he has much experience,” Chris said, taking a left turn. He was driving slower than usual, probably so that the boy - Stiles - would be able to keep up with them.

Peter hummed under his breath. 

“Yeah, he was blushing so bright when you started hitting on him, he lit the whole place up…”

Chris nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Stiles was a very, very awkward flirt, obviously unaccustomed to two grown men paying him attention.

It was kind of adorable. Chris was half sure that he would bail as soon as he figured out that they were looking for a one night stand, but to his credit, he rolled with it enthusiastically.

* * *

“So,” Stiles said when they put their coats down. “Do I, like, get a drink, or do we just… you know?”

Peter looked at Chris and smiled. He liked the boy. He walked up to Stiles and kissed him, biting at his lips. The boy moaned, frozen for a second before kissing back sloppily. Peter didn’t mind the sloppiness. It was so different from the careful, slow kisses he got from Chris and really… that was the point of this whole thing.

“I guess that’s decided then,” his husband said, walking up to them and nudging them into motion. Peter carefully maneuvered the boy towards the bedroom, not wanting to take his lips of him.

Chris helped them avoid about six collisions with the walls and furniture and stuff, but soon enough they were finally in the bedroom. Stiles was panting, looking from one of them to the other and then he just nodded to himself and pounced on Chris, knocking him down to the mattress and latching onto his mouth almost desperately.

Peter raised an eyebrow, not like he minded, but he was kind of expecting to have to coax the boy out of his shell.

At least he had time to get undressed.

By the time he was down to his boxers, Stiles managed to get Chris naked as well, between feverish kisses and hands exploring hard muscle. It was a beautiful sight, but it could have been better. 

Peter pulled the boy off his husband.

“Come on, darling, you’re the only one left,” he said, biting into Stiles neck.

The kid moaned then pushed him down beside Chris with surprising ease.

“Alright then, I will give you a show,” he said with a grin. 

He pulled his flannel and T-shirt down in one smooth movement and Peter could practically feel his jaw dropping to the floor beside Chris’.

Stiles was…

First of all, he had a beautiful body, packed with lean, light muscles. 

And then there were the tattoos. Peter could see flowers and animals - at first glance he could spot a fox, a raven and a wolf - all connected with an intricate, knotted design. They were covering Stiles’ shoulders and most of his upper arms, and from the mirror on the opposite wall, he could see that they continued down his back too.

Chris swallowed beside him, and Peter could absolutely sympathize with the dry mouthed awe.

“Since there’s two of you,” the boy said with a sharp, cheeky smile, his nipple rings glinting in the lamplight “I sincerely hope there will be DP at one point.”

Sometimes, the surprises were the best.


	16. Noshiko/Stiles - mommy kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roseknightred asked:  
> I wonder what the fandom would do with a Noshiko/Stiles fic! Either she see's him as a son after the nogitsune but not being her real son means she gets 'ideas/cravings/ect', she sees void in him and falls for the new version of who her husband couldn't be, or plain breed kink cause she wants more kits and mr yukimura can't give her any for whatever reason? XD i have no idea where these came from but yup

She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. At first Noshiko just watched, not even daring to actually think about why - only at night, in bed with Ken snoring beside her did she allow herself to entertain the thought.

The truth was, they got very lucky with Kira. The reason why the world wasn’t overrun by kitusne, even though they lived for so long was that it was incredibly hard for them to have children. In nine hundred years, Kira was Noshiko’s only child.

And now, with her tails gone, she didn’t have another millennium, she had maybe another hundred years if she was lucky…

Stiles was… he was different. Being the vessel of the Nogitsune already made him more like Noshiko than anyone other than Kira, but on top of it, the body Stiles currently had was actually  _built_ by the Nogitsune - not for this purpose, surely, but still.

She couldn’t get the thought out of her head, and the more she watched Stiles, the more appealing she found him. Age shouldn’t have been a question for her, not when she had 800 years on the oldest living human, but the though of this… this  _boy_ , barely more than a child, really, was making her blood sizzle in her veins.

Stiles was spazzy and awkward and fresh cheeked, even when he had dark rings under his eyes. She didn’t understand herself - she wanted to protect him, take him to her breast and feed him and she wanted his young, untried cock, pumping his life into her to make a new one.

For years, they shared every secret with Ken, but Noshiko couldn’t share this one with him. She loved her husband, she did. It never even occurred to her that what she felt for Stiles was anything like that - it was both deeper and more superficial, a dark, hungry thing that kept eating away at her common sense.

***

She didn’t plan it, but fate decided to give her the chance she craved. Ken was away on a three day training arranged by the school and Kira and the rest of the pack were out hunting a Kappa of all things. They’ve met at the Yukimura house to ask for her advice, and Stiles was left behind while his supernatural friends were out on the chase.

“Well,” the boy said, shuffling his feet “I guess I’d better go…”

It was probably just Noshiko’s own desire, but she thought there was a touch of reluctance in his voice.

“Have you ever tried Sake, Stiles?”

***

Stiles was loose limbed and rosy cheeked by the time they’ve finished the second bottle. Alcohol didn’t do much for a kitsune, but Noshiko still enjoyed the burn down her throat - it balanced out the fire in the pit of her stomach.

“I think… I’m a bit drunk…” Stiles said, blinking slowly.

Maybe if Noshiko was human, or just…  _better_ she would have been able to leave it at that, but she couldn’t.

She stood, putting their glasses in the sink. Kira wouldn’t be coming home, she just texted ten minutes ago.

“Well, then I can’t possibly let you drive home,” she said, touching the boy’s shoulder gently. “Come upstairs.”

Stiles just looked at her for a minute before scrambling up - almost toppling over in the process - and raced after her.

Noshiko though that she should be anxious, or fell guilty… instead she just felt herself growing wet and hot between her legs. She stopped in front of her bedroom, Stiles bumping into her and apologizing hastily. She took a deep, slow breath letting herself feel the wight of the decision before turning to the boy and taking his hand.

Stiles looked at her stupidly for a moment, eyes wide and a bit glazed from the alcohol as Noshiko guided his hand under her skirt, to touch that place where she wanted him. She watched, not knowing what to expect as the boy’s mouth opened on a little, vulnerable sound when he felt how wet she was, her slick soaking though her panties.

“Stiles… do you want to come inside?”

The boy swallowed, and then did it again before he was able to speak.

“Y-yeah, Mrs Y.”

***

Stiles was still standing dumbfounded by the foot of the bed when she was already lying on it, naked. The lack of experience practically radiated from the boy, and it just made her want to ruin him more. She shifted, parting her legs and sneaker her hand down to rub at the mound of her pussy. She didn’t shave, though she kept her pubic hair neat and short, it felt good as her fingers ran thought it.

Stiles stared, and then, like it suddenly occured to him that he should be doing something, he tore his clothes off haphazardly throwing them around. He took a cautious step froward, stopping with his knees touching the bed.

Noshiko shuffled back to sit against the headboard, pushing a finger inside her pussy, and then pulled it out, holding it out for the boy.

“Have you ever tasted a woman, Stiles?”

He shook his head, finally getting on the bed, crawling forward on his hands and knees until he could suck the wet finger into his mouth. His eyes closed, lashes fanning out against his blushing cheeks as his tongue carefully bathed the digit.

Noshiko smiled, he was really such a sweet, innocent thing.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, low and Stiles shivered, eyes cutting up to her. Oh, oh that was good.

“Do you want to make me feel good, sweetheart?” she asked, pulling her finger away and caressing his mouth. Stiles nodded, licking his lips before getting into position between her legs. He moved a bit awkwardly, not even knowing how to start, but that was alright, Noshiko would teach him everything.

She fisted her hand in his hair, pulling him where she needed that smart, agile mouth the most.

“Don’t worry love, mommy will help.”

Stiles moaned, tongue lapping at her folds eager and hungry.

***

Noshiko had to ride Stiles. The boy was too eager, hammering into her pussy with quick, jerky thrusts, like his life depended on it. It didn’t really work for her, so he made him lay back and enjoy the ride.

When finally she could dictate the pace it was amazing. Her pussy was so wet that it leaked out, matting down the hair around the base of the boy’s cock, making obscene noises as she moved.

Stiles was watching her wide eyed and breathless, holding onto the sheets so hard that his knuckles turned white with it. Noshiko couldn’t help smiling. He needed a bit of a reward.

She stilled, circling her hips and making stiles cry out before holding her arms open.

“Come here, child,” she said, smiling as the boy jerked up to obey.

Noshiko pulled him close, palming the back of his head and guided those red, bitten lips to her chest. Stiles latched on hungrily, like he really was expecting to find something there, his arms going around her hips, fluttering against her skin.

“That’s it, baby, suck on mommy’s teats, don’t you worry about anything else.”

Stiles whined, cock jerking inside her.

Noshiko quickened her movements, bouncing on the boy’s lap. She couldn’t help throwing her head back - she didn’t expect it to feel this good, didn’t expect that Stiles would reach all those places deep in her that had been aching for so long, but he did. She already came once, all over that sweet, innocent face, but she was growing close to the edge again.

Her pussy was gushing, pulsing around the boy’s cock, trying to milk him dry. It was a wonder that he haven’t come yet - probably the nerves - but she could tell that he was about to succumb too. She squeezed her walls, grinding down and moving her hips in tight little movements.

Stiles was shivering, his teeth biting into Noshiko’s hardened, sensitive nipple and kept making little, mewling noises.

“That’s it, my sweet little boy, come for mommy,” she whispered against the top of his head and Stiles stilled, arms spasming around her. Noshiko could feel it as his seed flooded her, pumping her full of his release. She didn’t stop, she still needed a last little push and when Stiles actually heaved out a wet sob from her riding his still twitching cock, she finally came too.

She closed her eyes for a second, just listening to Stiles’ soft, hitching breathing.

There was no way to tell really, but she  _knew_ , knew that she was a mother again.


	17. Steter - It Will Come Back by Hozier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Steter, Hozier- it will come back. (I hope it's ok to prompt a song, if not feel free to ignore this :) ) Hope you're happy with the new laptop!

Stiles didn’t know what prompted him to do it. It was crazy, is what it was.

There weren’t many things he was good at, only reading tracks, and making medicine - nothing less, nothing more. The latter of the two was the only thing that made the nearby village tolerate his presence, even though they considered him to be a heretic and a witch.

Stiles wasn’t a witch, he just had a thing with plants and animals and coupled with everything he learned from gran Stilinski it was enough to make him apt at healing most of the ills that plagued the village.

The first of the two - reading tracks - was how he knew that there was an injured werewolf in the woods. The smart thing to do would have been to tell the Argents so they could hunt it down, if not for the fact that it was dangerous, then to put it out of its misery.

Stiles probably wasn’t smart, because instead of doing just that, he cut down one of the goats and hung a quarter of it on the apple tree in front of the porch.

That night, he lay awake, listening to the sounds of the woods, but didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. He fell asleep with a touch of disappointment, but when he woke up the meat was gone.

 

***

 

It could have been a bear or a wolverine. Hell, it could have been a vagrant, but still, the next night Stiles hung another piece of the goat on the apple tree. 

He was still reading by the light of a candle - one of the few tomes his gran left him - when he heard something outside. It wasn’t much, noting more than some leaves rustling. For all intents and purposes it could have been a fox or a cat that wondered away from the village, but somehow Stiles knew that wasn’t it.

He got up as quietly as he could and sneaked to the door, sitting down and pressing his ear against the thick wood. For a moment nothing happened. He could feel the cold, night air against his skin through the cracks between the planks, but otherwise everything was silent.

He almost got up when he heard the old wood of the porch steps creaking. He stilled, blood singing with some crazy bland of excitement and fright. The wolf was right there, on the other side.

Stiles waited and a second later a shiver ran down his spine when there was a burst of warm breath whispering against his skin. It lasted only a blink and then the steps creaked again, the wolf disappearing into the night where it came from.

 

***

 

He didn’t even attempt to act like he wasn’t waiting on the third night.

As soon as the sun was down he wrapped a blanket around himself and settled down in front of the door.

He didn’t have to wait long. It was the night of the full moon, and the goat was too enticing. He knew it was stupid. He could have eaten that goat. He could have dried the meat and put it away for the winter when food was scarce, but he couldn’t. 

He could hear it when the string tied to the branch of the apple tree snapped. He could hear the sound of the thick thigh-bone breaking as it was torn apart. The meat didn’t last long, and when it was gone the wolf was back at the door sniffing.

Stiles’ belly squirmed with nerves and then the monster outside was scratching at the door, like a dog would to be let in. His hand was on the latch, but he didn’t open it. It was a battle between his common sense and that deep-rooted part of him that told him which mushrooms would make a good stew and which would kill him in agony.

His common sense came out on top and he stood, getting hastily into bed and blowing out the candle.

The wolf was scratching on the door long after that. Stiles lay awake, scared and excited and listened to the sound of it clawing the wood.

It howled - long and sharp and undescibable - before it left when the first light broke on the horizon.

 

***

 

Christopher Argent from the village came to his house that day, asking about the howling.

It was his last chance to come clean.

He told the hunter that he had been sleeping like the dead.

Christopher told him he should be careful about that.

 

***

 

He tied the last piece of the goat to the apple tree just when the sun was setting.

He would have liked to say that it had been a mistake, that he simply forgot, but when he went inside he didn’t close the latch on the door.

Stiles didn’t wait at the door.

He dressed into his nightshirt and lay in bed with a single candle burning, casting bizarre shadows into the corners. He had no mind to read, brain too preoccupied with…

There was a creak outside, a low growl and then door opened.

There was a man standing there, naked and muscular, dark hair pushed back from his hair. His eyes were very blue and very clever. He closed the door behind himself and Stiles blew out the candle.


	18. Alan/Stiles - consensual bestiality/gangbang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Something super kinky but consensual with stiles and alan?  
> Anonymous said:maybe Stiles fucked and knotted by a pack of wolves/dogs?

“Are you ready?” Alan asked as he opened the door to the kennel. Stiles wasn’t sure. Yeah, he wanted this, it had been a dirty fantasy heavy in the back of his mind since he explored the more gritty depths of the internet back when he was a teen.

But was he ready?

Probably not. Was he going to do it? Fuck yeah.

His whole body was shaking as he went in, the dogs yipping in the crates lining the walls. They liked Stiles, he helped out when he could ever since he and Alan got together.

There was a low bench in the middle, low enough for him to rest his chest on it on all fours.

“I need you to be sure,” Alan told him, standing right behind Stiles. His body was warm and firm and it calmed his nerves immediately. “Once we start you have to keep going. I don’t want any of them to feel left out.”

Stiles gave a hysterical little chuckle. Fuck. This was too crazy. And amazing. If he had known that Alan would be down with this part of him, they could have gotten together ages before they actually did.

“S-sure,” Stiles said, voice breaking as he started to undress. Fuck.

 

***

 

Stiles was going crazy.

He had lost count of the dogs that fucked him, it was starting to all blur together. He might have completely checked out by now if it wasn’t for Alan kneeling by his head and making sure he was okay.

“You are doing so well, baby,” the man told him, and it wasn’t everyday Stiles heard that kind of wonder in his voice. Pity he was too gone to really appreciate it.

He had no idea how ‘well’ he was doing. All he knew was that his ass was completely ruined. The dog - something mid-sized, though he couldn’t see - was fucking him with his knot fully formed, but it didn’t catch.

Stiles panted through his open mouth as the dog sped up, hips hammering madly and his balls slapping against Stiles’ own. It sounded wet, not surprising with all the dog come leaking from his hole and covering his scrotum.

“Spot is almost finished,” Alan said, stroking his hair. His cock was obviously hard, tenting the front of his jeans, but he haven’t touched himself yet. Stiles didn’t know what he was waiting for. He already came three times without ever touching his cock.

The last orgasm actually hurt a bit, with his balls already being empty.

Alan was right, Spot stilled, trying to nudge his cock as deep as it could go before he came.

The feeling of the warm, thin dog come splashing into him never got old. Even now, when he was so, so completely spent, it still managed to make him shiver.

Spot didn’t waste too much time after it was over. Then again, they haven’t actually stuck together properly, so it was no wonder.

Stiles moaned when the dog turned around and pulled his knot out of his hole without so much as a by-your-leave.

Alan stood and led him back into his crate before kneeling down beside Stiles.

“God… You should see this, love. There’s an actual puddle of come under you,” he said. He pushed both of his thumbs into Stiles’ ass and pulled them apart, opening up his hole as far as he could.

He whined as he felt the man gently blow air on his entrance, tickling his oversensitive walls.

“Your ass is so red, baby. It’s all puffy and loose…” Alan said and then proceeded to plunge four fingers into him. They went in easily enough.

“When we’re finished here, I’m going to fist you, hm? Would you like that, love?”

Stiles couldn’t talk, so he only moaned. Fuck. Fuck he wanted that. He wanted Alan’s hand in him, scooping all that doggy come out.

“There’s only Bruno left. Just hang on a little more.”

He didn’t know which one was Bruno, but his eyes widened when Alan opened a big crate in the corner revealing a… fucking gigantic Leonberger. His breath stuck in his chest for a second, but then the dog was behind him, nosing at his abused hole.

It made Stiles melt. He just loved when they did that, when they stuck their cold noses into his crack and lapped at him with their long, rough tongues.

Alan chuckled and knelt down beside him again.

“You love that, baby, don’t you? Don’t worry, Bruno will take very good care of you. He’s a big boy in every sense of he word.”

The man probably saw the moment when the dog got ready to mount, because he fisted Stiles’ hair to keep him still. Fuck.

Bruno didn’t mess around, he got up and started jabbing his cock forward. It took him a few tries to find his mark, but when he did Stiles whizzed out a startled breath. Shit. Shit, Alan hadn’t been joking. His cock was enormous, thick enough to feel it even after taking knots for hours.

“Shh, it’s okay, love. He’s going to give it to you real nice. I’ve seen him mounting a bitch before, and he had surprisingly good stamina.”

Stiles whined. Most of the dogs jack-rabbited into him for only a few moments before coming.

Bruno was not like that.

The almost panicky rush was missing from his thrusts; this dog knew that once he plunged his cock into someone, they won’t be going anywhere.

Stiles wasn’t either. Actually, his body just gave up, going completely lax and letting the bench take all his weight. His muscles were like jelly, unable to do anything when he was being fucked so thoroughly. 

He didn’t notice when he closed his eyes, but they only opened when something was nudging against his slack mouth.

Ah, Alan’s cock.

“Come on, love. Give me a good time too. I bet you will love being filled from both sides.”

Stiles didn’t disagree. He was too gone to do much, but he opened up, dutifully swallowing when his lover slid in deep, bumping against the back of his throat.

“That’s it, baby, just let us take care of you.”

Stiles did. It was an almost religious experience. Bruno was brutal, his strong body leaning into every move, putting enough force behind his hips that if it wasn’t for Alan holding the other end, he would have jostled the bench forward too.

His cock was long, and Stiles nearly choked when he felt the first signs of his knot forming. Alan was careful, though. He pulled back just in time, and when he started fucking his mouth again he timed his thrusts to the dog’s.

Stiles’ eyes rolled back. Bruno was getting bigger and bigger, and he had no idea when he was going to stop growing. When his cock finally caught his own dick twitched and spurted out a few, pathetic droplets of come.

His whole body was spasming with the overwhelming sensation.

“You came again, love? You’re insatiable,” Alan said fondly. Stiles could hear it in his voice that he was close too, so he wasn’t surprised when the next time he pushed into his throat, he stayed right there, just rutting into him.

Stiles was in hell. Or in haven.

He couldn’t decide. Bruno’s knot was so big that it felt like he was filling up his whole body, and Alan was still not pulling back, choking him on his cock until he started coming, shooting his load straight down into his belly.

Stiles coughed up a bit of it when he could finally breath again, but the reflex just made his body tighten around Bruno, making him moan.

Alan stroked his cheek before shuffling down along the bench.

Bruno, knot now fully formed, got off him lazily, turning them ass-to-ass.

“Oh, baby. I wish you could see this. Your little pucker is so… so obscenely stretched. I think Bruno might have ruined it completely. You won’t be able to get off anymore unless there’s at least a fist in your hungry, dirty hole.”

Stiles whined, high and desperate, but it turned into a pained moan when Alan reached under him and started rubbing his soft cock.

“Just one more time, baby. Just one more, and we’re finished. Don’t you want to know what I got you for our anniversary?”

Stiles thought his present was all the dog fucking, but apparently he had been wrong. But he had no time to ponder it, because his belly was getting painfully tight with Bruno still shooting inside him, filling him to the brim with his hot puppy come, and Alan was set on getting him off, playing with his cock, pulling and slapping it.

Stiles was such a fucking pain slut, but still, what sent him over the edge was Bruno trying to yank his knot free right when Alan flicked the head of his cock.

Stiles came on a scream and then he was out like a light.

 

***

 

He only found out later that they were keeping Bruno.


	19. Alan/Stiles - public humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> How about Stiles/Alan and public humiliation??

The little diner was a nice place. Not fancy exactly, but it did serve good food and had pretty tablecloths.

Stiles had no idea what Alan was planning, but he was already overwhelmed by a nervous sort of anticipation. He probably shouldn’t have complained about never going out.

Well, okay, he didn’t exactly complain, it was just a dropped little comment, but Alan got that thoughtful look on his face that never meant good (read: meant very, very good).

His lover - it was weird to call him that, he usually called him Master, but lover was enough in public - led them to a booth in the corner. He took the menu from Stiles before he could even open it.

The waitress was a plum little redhead. She didn’t make them wait for too long before appearing by their table.

“Good evening, what can I get you, gentlemen?”

“I think I will have a steak, and he will have the roasted chicken with fries,” Alan told her, calm as hell. To her credit she didn’t bat an eye at the fact that Stiles wasn’t ordering for himself, though he had a feeling that she did notice the way he turned bright red.

He should have expected that Alan wouldn’t let him choose his own food, but well. They really didn’t go out much.

“Thanks,” Stiles said quietly after the girl left. He did like roasted chicken. He probably would have ordered that himself, but the fact that he couldn’t still set like an itch under his skin. He wasn’t yet sure if it was a good or a bad itch.

Alan gave him a little half smile and poured both of them some water while they waited. The man was never chatty - not like Stiles minded, one of the best things about Alan was his constant, unshakable calm and quiet - and he didn’t talk much now either. They exchanged a few words about the project Stiles was working on for college, just random things until he almost felt normal again.

Of course, that all changed when their food arrived.

The waitress put their plates down and was just about to go when she stopped in her tracks as she saw Alan pulling Stiles’ food away.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” she asked, with the wariness of someone who worked one too many years at this job.

“Hm? Oh, not at all,” Alan assured him as he proceeded to cut Stiles’ chicken up into bite sized pieces. She raised an eyebrow, but left after a second of hesitation.

The woman sitting at a table a few feet away was frowning as he watched what was happening.

Stiles was pretty sure he was a second away from catching fire from the force of his blush. Fuck. Nobody cut his food since he was a toddler.

Alan didn’t seem to care about the staring, he just did his thing, ubothered by everyone. When he was finished he gave the plate back.

“You may eat now,” he said as he dug into his own food.

Stiles swallowed thickly, not even sure he could do it with the way his stomach was tied in knots with nerves and humiliation. His dick twitched.

It was hard to concentrate on the food, though it was quite good, but he couldn’t feeling like everyone was watching him.

For once, it was Alan who kept the conversation going, acting like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Stiles answered as shortly as he could, not trusting his voice not to break.

All he wanted was to go home and get fucked.

Of course, Alan had other plans. After the plates were cleared he ordered a coffee for himself and a coke for Stiles, not asking him about what he wanted. Stiles really hoped the waiters would get a nice, big tip, cause she took everything like a champ, though she obviously knew something was up.

Stiles was twitching with the need to get out, but one look from Alan was enough to make him stop. And anyway, it made the little plug in his ass shift and that was a big no-no.

Their drink arrived, all neat and stuff. Alan got his coffee with a tiny pitcher of milk, and the coke had ice cubes in it. He only got a sip when Alan sighed.

That had to mean trouble.

The man poured most of the milk into his cup, only leaving a few drops at the bottom.

“I wish they gave us more cream,” he said before looking up at Stiles.

It was rare to see that spark of mischief in his eyes, but when it was there, Stiles pants automatically grew a few sizes too small.

Alan pushed the small pitcher towards him.

“Would you mind helping me out?” Alan asked. It was obviously not a request, but Stiles still desperately wanted to say no.

He couldn’t. That was just not a thing that could happen.

“Come now, before my coffee gets cold,” the man told him, and now there was definitely a hint of order behind the words.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-fuckity-fuck.

Stiles licked his lips, snatching the little pitcher off the table as quickly as he could. He couldn’t let anyone see it.

Thankfully the tablecloth was long enough to cover his lap - and what he was about to do.

He unzipped his pants, eyes looking around him in desperation. Everyone must have heard that. There was no way they didn’t.

Miraculously enough, nobody turned their had. Even the judgmental woman at the table was busy with something else. He was - of fucking course - sitting at the left side of the booth, so if he wanted to get away with this, he had to use his left hand to jerk off.

His eyes met Alan’s seeing the way they were burning with something close to want. He loved to get Alan that way, he just wasn’t sure he enjoyed doing it in public.

Shit. At least his cock didn’t let him down. He had been half-hard since they sat down, and by now it was almost painful. He would get off in a second.

Except, it wasn’t that easy. Not when he was using his left, and not when he was acutely aware that someone could look over any second.

Stiles bit his lip and held the little pitcher to the head of his cock. The last thing he needed was coming all over himself and having to walk out like that.

He couldn’t move his hand the way he wanted. He was an enthusiastic masturbator, but usually he had space and at least some privacy. Not now, now he had to do it in the middle of a busy restaurant with Alan sitting in front of him, waiting for him to finish.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to concentrated. Fuck. This was so fucking humiliating.

He could hear the rustle of Alan’s clothes, and he looked over just in time to see the man signalling for the bill. Stiles stared at him in wide eyed panic. What.

“I don’t see why I can’t pay while you’re at it,” Alan explained with a little shrug. “Though I guess if you hurry, you can finish before she gets here.”

Stiles shook his head in denial. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. But he couldn’t stop either. Alan would be disappointed… and a small - really, very, very small - part of him was burning with the need to do this, to do it right there where he might get caught.

Alan gave him a long look.

“Well, I guess I could give you a bit of help,” he mused and reached into his pocket.

A second later the plug in his ass started vibrating, and Stiles couldn’t muffle a startled little moan. The conversation in the next booth fell silent, and he held his breath, biting his lip strong enough to taste blood until it started again.

Fuck. They knew. They had to.

His hand couldn’t stop moving, squeezing his cock, rubbing it in small, jerky motions. He could see their waitress at another table. She was almost finished taking their order. She will probably head over right after giving it to the kitchen.

His cock hurt from the dry friction, but that didn’t do anything to stop him. The burn of it was good, it chased him closer and closer to the edge.

“Come,” Alan said quietly, the comment barely audible, but it was enough.

Stiles came, the breath rushing out his nose as he tried to keep from crying out.

 

***

 

Alan was just pouring the last drops of cream into his coffee when the waitress arrived.

“Found everything to your liking?” she asked, politely not looking at Stiles, who probably looked like he just had a stroke and a hart attack combo.

“Yes thank you, excellent service,” Alan told her with a smile.


	20. Sheriff/Stiles - non-consensual, non-sexual infantilism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Ooo prompts! Awesome. Non consensual, non sexual infantilism. Characters your choice.
> 
> (this is very short, sorry!)

John was watching the match downstairs when he heard the muffled whine from the baby monitor, it was barely there, but well. A father’s ears did pick up those things.

He sighed and got up with a groan. Maybe he was getting a bit too old for this, but you never stopped being a father. Especially not with a boy like little Stiles.

He made his way up the stairs slowly. His boy was having a rough few days, so he didn’t think anything was wrong. A bit of fussing, but hopefully that would pass with time, when Stiles finally realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere with it.

The nursery was lit in a soft orange by the nightlight he kept on. Everything was new - it only took him a weekend to repaint and refurnish Stiles’ old room, but it was well worth the hassle.

The crib stood in the middle, white and pretty, almost exactly like the one Claudia chose for their baby back in day, only bigger of course.

“Hey, kiddo! What’s got you upset?” he asked as he leaned over it.

Stiles was red-faced, eyes angry and a bit desperate as he struggled in wain to work himself out of the restrains keeping him on his back. His boy was smart and strong, but even he wasn’t crafty enough to get out of them when the sheriff put his mind into keeping him in place.

The dummy was still in his mouth, not like it could have fallen out, not with the strap around his head.

John reached inside, rubbing his son’s belly through the powder blue onsie.

“Come now, Stiles. You have to stop being such a fussy baby. You know daddy only wants the best for you.”

It was the truth, but the boy’s eyes still filled with tears when he realized that he won’t be getting free anytime soon.

John planted a soft kiss to his brow. He was only doing what all parents should; making sure that his baby boy stayed safe.


	21. Scott/Stiles - puppy!play, praise kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Scott/Stiles - Praise!kink, collars, puppy play, kisses.

Stiles never thought that he and Scott would ever end up, like… together. Sure, they were best buds and he knew since he was in kindergarten that it would stay that way, but he wasn’t expecting the  _together-together_.

And he never expected the kind of things they would do.

Maybe he should have done, because even when they were playing back when they were small Scott always liked to be a puppy, while Stiles was playing a cop. They made the perfect K9 partners.

Nowadays, Stiles was studying hard to actually become a cop and Scott was working towards his degree in veterinary medicine, but the games they played changed surprisingly little, even though they kept the playing mostly to the weekends.

It was Stiles’ job to get breakfast while Scott got ready for the day, so he picked up a coffee for himself and some bagels for the both of them, by the time he got back to their flat the game was on.

“I’m home,” he shouted as soon as he closed the door behind himself and sure enough, there was Scotty - well, Spotty - bounding down the hall.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles greeted, putting down his things so he could ruffle the pup’s hair. “Have you been good while I was away?”

Spotty yipped and reared up, nuzzling his face into Stiles’ groin, making him laugh and moan at the same time.

“Hey, hey! Down boy, that’s not a nice thing to do.”

Spotty sat back on his hunches, cock already hard between his thighs as he looked up at Stiles with big, happy brown eyes.

He really couldn’t stay angry at a dog like that.

“Alright, alright. Here.”

He broke down the corner of one of the bagels and Spotty took it carefully, not biting his fingers like the good boy he was.

“Let me just put these away, okay?”

Stiles took everything to the small kitchenette and put their breakfast on a tray.

He settled down on the couch with Spotty by his feet. He looked eager and yipped whenever Stiles gave him a piece of pastry.

He was kind of adorable.

When the food was gone - along with Stiles’ coffee - he felt sated and generous so he patted the cushion beside.

“Alright, boy, you can come up for a little snuggling, but just this once!”

Spotty looked like he couldn’t believe his luck, and like Stiles was god himself as he scrambled up, turning around a few times before he settled with his head on Stiles’ lap.

“There you go… Are you comfy, buddy?” Stiles asked, scratching him behind his ear just the way he knew the pup loved it.

Spotty yipped, shuffling a bit closer.

“Aw, aren’t you just a good boy?” he said with a smile as he surfed the channels. They spent most of the morning like that.

Of course, when it was time to get up and start looking for lunch Spotty wasn’t in favor of being disturbed. He looked up at Stiles with the most pathetic expression on his face, mouth open and tongue lolling out.

“What is it, Spot? Come on, we can’t laze around all day.”

Spotty whined, trying to inch himself into Stiles’ lap while simultaneously not getting up.

“Come on, but. Don’t make me regret letting you up here,” Stiles told him, trying to go for stern but not really managing. He was an awful pet owner.

Spot whined again and turned around starting to rub Stiles’ crotch again, sniffing it. Fuck, that felt good.

“Ah… you wanna play, Spotty?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer just reached into his pants and pulled his quickly filling cock out.

“Okay, okay. Off, buddy. You can’t have your treat on the couch.”

Spotty was eager to get up when he knew what was coming, and he took his place between Stiles’ legs obediently.

“Yeah, boy. Here we go, you can have at it…” Stiles told him breathlessly, and the pup didn’t need to be told twice.

He took a second to lap at the hard cock in front of him, but then he closed his lips around the head and just… sucked.

Stiles moaned, hands going to Spot’s hair, gripping the thick curls.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s it, pal. Uh. Fuck. Come on, buddy, just a bit more, show daddy how good you are.”

Spot whined around the dick in his mouth and then doubled his efforts, bobbing his head and trying to get it in as far as he could.

He was amazing.

“Yeah. That’s it. That’s a good boy, such a good, lovely boy,” Stiles said between panting breaths, already close. Spotty looked up at him with eyes shining from happiness at the praise. So sweet, his boy.

“Uh. Just like that, good dog, the best - ah - the best dog, Spotty. The best little puppy out there…” he murmured, not even minding when the dog started to pump his hips the air just from his words.

He was coming a moment later, pushed over the edge by Spot swallowing down his whole length, throat clenching tight around the head.

Stiles was completely boneless, but he had enough strength left to push his leg between Spotty’s.

“It’s okay, boy. You can hump my leg, you deserve a reward.”

Spotty did, jumping up into his lap - careful of his spent cock - and started thrusting against his shin, whining and slobbering all over Stiles’ shirt.

It was good thing he was wearing shorts, they’ve ruined enough track pants already.


	22. Peter/Stiles - established relationship, mind control, daddy!kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Peter/Stiles - Established relationship, mind control, daddy!kink.

They’ve fought about it - just a bit. Peter thought that it was only fair, considering that he had been willing to do the things Stiles liked. Which was true. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do it.

Daddy kink was just a complete turnoff. It wasn’t anything against Peter, he found almost everything hot that they did together, but well. He had a complicated enough relationship with his dad without never being able to look into his eyes again, thank you very much.

And he would have stuck by that decision if it wasn’t for the fact that Peter didn’t push. No, the man understood his reasons, and after they both said their piece he never bought it up again.

It was probably just a tactic - nobody said they had a healthy relationship, okay? - but it still made Stiles think.

Because, when he wanted to try knotting or when he wanted to dress up in girl clothes Peter didn’t bat an eye and he had the time of his life. It didn’t seem fair to not return the favor.

They’ve tried once, but it ended in literal tears, and not the good kind either. So yeah.

The idea stuck him in the shower.

“Hey, Peter!”

“What?” the man shouted back from the living room, and then stomped right over when Stiles didn’t answer.

“I hate it when you do that. I asked what, so  _what_ , Stiles?”

He grinned.

“So, I was thinking about that claw thing you’re so good with.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“So, like, if… And only if! If I agree, could you, theoretically, tamper with my brain in such a way that… I would be more… infantile?”

Now that got the man’s attention. He looked thoughtful, eyes sharp as he scratched his beard.

“Are you asking if I could brainwash you into fulfilling my deepest, dirties fantasies? Because the answer is yes,” he said, looking a bit sorry that it didn’t occur to him earlier. The asshole.

“And you could make sure that I didn’t remember anything afterwards?”

Peter grinned.

“If you trust me enough to believe that there will be an ‘afterwards’.”

 

***

 

Peter didn’t know what to expect when he pulled his claws out from the nape of Stiles’ neck. He was a bit nervous, to be honest.

Oh, he knew it would work, he knew he could undo it too - and against all the teasing he did, he would definitely undo it - but still. He wouldn’t have admitted it for the world but he was extremely touched that Stiles was doing this for him.

Or well. Not exactly doing it for him, but letting him make the boy do this. Fuck. It was a bit complicated.

Anyway, he pulled out and quickly lathered the small cuts with some salve they got for Alan. It should be enough to numb the pain and make sure there was no infection.

Stiles was out. He told Peter to do it any time he wanted, so he chose a quite afternoon when the boy was having a nap. He kind of hoped it would make things go more smoothly.

The moment of truth.

“Stiles, baby, time to get up,” he said softly, ruffling the boy’s hair.

He mumbled a bit in his sleep before he turned around, honey colored eyes zeroing in on Peter, face lighting up with a smile.

“Daddy!” he said, burrowing in close and hugging Peter’s chest.

Fuck. Fuck yes.

“Hey, baby boy, had a nice nap?”

“Yeah, dreamed about you, daddy,” Stiles said. Even his voice was different, a bit more soft, a bit lighter. Peter loved it.

“Oh, did you? What was it about?”

“Well, we went to a fair and you got me cotton candy and lollipops and we went on all kinds of rides,” Stiles explained excitedly, he was still hugging Peter, rubbing his face against his shirt.

“Hm, did we? Well… maybe you could try giving daddy’s lollipop a go then?”

Stiles looked up, clearly enthusiastic about the idea.

“Can I? Can I, daddy? I wanna lick your lollipop!”

Peter couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear. This was going like a dream.

“Sure thing, baby boy, go on,” he said, sitting up with his back to the headboard. Stiles didn’t waste time and shuffled between his parted legs, opening his jeans with practiced ease.

Peter was already hard, almost knocking the boy in the face when his cock was finally free.

“Wow. It’s so big, daddy! I don’t think I will be able to get all of it in my mouth,” Stiles told him, sounding a bit unsure. Peter stroked his face gently.

“That’s fine, baby. Lick it nice and well and I’ll be good.”

Stiles gave him a small smile and did just that. His pink tongue sneaked out and gave the head of his cock small, sweet kitten licks.

“Will there be stuff coming out?” he asked between laps, holding the fat dick steady with one hand.

“Oh, yeah, there will be plenty of stuff coming out if you are good. Do you want to drink it?” Peter asked, voice a bit rough with arousal.

Stiles giggled.

“Yes! I like your juice, it tastes a bit funny but I like it! It makes me all tingly down there.”

“Oh? Where does it make you feel tingly, love?”

Stiles was blushing adorably, even while his face was scrunched up in concentration as he tried to lavish Peter’s whole cock with his tongue.

“In… In my undies, daddy… It gets all tingly when we play like this.”

Peter hummed, throwing his head back as Stiles found the spot right under the head of his cock.

“Ah… Well, if you work hard we can play with your little bottom too, daddy will get you nice and wet and will put his thing in there, okay?”

Stiles gave a sloppy, slurping kiss to the tip of his dick.

“Yay!”

 

***

 

When Stiles woke up, he groaned, flopping to his back and staring at the ceiling for a second.

“So. How was it?”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“How did you know?”

The boy hummed a bit, shifting on the bed.

“Well, my ass is sore and my mouth tastes like come, and considering that somnophilia is my thing, not yours…”

Oh. Peter couldn’t help grinning. Such a smart boy he had.

“I had fun.”

“Good,” Stiles said, turning to his other side, obviously about to get right back to sleep. “You can do it again, just don’t tell me about it.”

Peter shuffled down and spooned his lover, giving a small kiss to the claw marks at his nape.

“Thank you.”


	23. Alan/Stiles - big nipples/lactation (no mpreg), watersports, humiliaton - sort of continuation of chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Stiles/deaton! :D BIG nipples, lactation, no mpreg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: this is sort of very loosely connected to my Alan/Stiles med!fet fic, k? K.
> 
> Also, this took me down some unexpected paths, so yeah.
> 
> Kinks and Warnings: male lactation, milking, body modification, humiliation, watersports

“I can’t believe this had to happen to me,” Stiles whined as he followed Dr. Deaton into the clinic. His chest itched, feeling cold where it was wet at the front. He didn’t dare look at it.

The vet shook his head with a put-upon sigh.

“You should know not to antagonize fertility gods,” he said as he turned on the lights in the examination room.

“Oh, shit… do you think… do you think I will change into a chick? Or, like, grow a vagina?” Stiles asked with a shudder. It was only partly thanks to the mental image. He couldn’t help remembering the last time he had been here. When his plug was stuck.

The man hummed as he put his gloves on.

“I don’t think so. That was the intent, probably, but Malia managed to tackle you in time, so the spell only brushed you. I’m sure that’s why the transformation had been incomplete.”

“Oh.” 

Stiles stood in the door awkwardly. He really didn’t want to face whatever was about to come, it was hard enough to look at the vet with the memory of their earlier ‘check up’.

“Get off your shirt and climb on, please. I need to see the damage,” he said, voice all calm and professional.

It was freaking Stiles out a bit, even though it probably should have done the opposite.

Still, he had no choice but to do as he was told. He resolutely didn’t look down as he undressed, but couldn’t help hissing when his shirt came off. Fuck, he was sensitive.

He jumped on, dangling his legs nervously while he waited for Dr Deaton to finish whatever he was doing. Stiles closed his eyes when the man finally stepped up to him.

“Hm. I see,” he said, which was not helpful at all.

“Will I come through, doctor?” he asked, trying for a joke, but it fell flat.

He almost flew off the table when he felt cool fingers on his nipples. It kind of hurt and also made his cock twitch with interest. Fuck.

“Your nipples are quite enlarged… and from your reaction I imagine they are sensitive. There’s a slight swelling in your chest too, but not enough to warrant this amount of lactation, so the milk has to be at least partly magical,” he said.

Stiles bit his lip, barely able to stop himself from moaning as the vet rubbed and pulled on his nipples with practiced fingers.

“I think I know the spell that caused this, now that I’ve seen the results,” Dr Deaton said, voice distracted. “I also know how to undo it, but unfortunately it’s not going to be pleasant,” he finished, making Stiles blink his eyes open.

“What? What does that mean?”

“Well, the good news is; the lactation should stop in two or three hours. The bad news is, the counter spell will only start working when it’s finished, and we can’t let it build up in your body.”

Stiles swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. 

So?

Dr Deaton left him sitting there. Stiles could hear him hunting around for something in the storage room. He didn’t want to do it, but he unconsciously looked down at his chest, and then he just… couldn’t look away.

Fuck. Fuck, his nipples were huge. The areolas were fat and puffy and his nipples were standing out at least an inch from them, milk slowly dripping from the tips.

Holy fuck.

His pecs were a bit swollen too. Not awfully, but still. Now that he looked he finally registered how tight they felt from the pressure inside them.

He was so mesmerized that he almost didn’t notice Dr Deaton coming back, and when he did, his mouth fell open as he saw the contraption he was holding.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, voice a high and thready.

“This? It’s a manual milking machine. Quite simple, but works wonders,” the man said. Stiles kind of felt like bolting for the door.

“Alright. We have a long few hours in front of us, so let’s get started. Get on your hands and knees, please,” he said as he checked the thing over.

It really was simple. There was a brass hand pump with a pressure gauge that had a rubber tube attached. The tube went into a large jar and another was coming out that ended in a longish plastic cup.

Stiles didn’t want to do this.

The man must have seen his indecision, because he reached up and twisted one of his nipples, making Stiles cry out and jerk back.

“Come now, we don’t have all day, the sooner we start the better. I assume you don’t want to stay like this.”

Stiles shook his head mutely and got into position, shivering as the table was lowered a bit.

“Wonderful. We will start with the right one, get it empty and then switch to the other. From the nature of the spell, I bet the first one will be full again by the time we finish with the left.”

 

***

 

Stiles was crying quietly by the end of the first hour. His nipples were going to fall off.

Dr Deaton tutted as he popped the cup from his right nipple and fitted it over the other one. Fuck, Stiles hated this part.

“Not… n-not that hard, please,” he whined as the man started pumping, watching the gauge.

“We have to make sure that it’s coming out properly, Stiles,” he said simply. The suction was already strong and it just grew until he could fee the milk starting to come, shooting into the cup.

The vet kept pumping. Fuck, it hurt so much.

“I need to build it up a bit,” he said, almost - but not quite - apologetically.

When it was so bad that Stiles was openly sobbing he finally put the pump down and walked to his other side.

“Now let’s see this.”

Stiles was trembling. He wanted to pull away, but didn’t dare move, too scared that he would either collapse or come in his pants.

Dr Deaton reached under him, taking his abused nipple between his fingers. It felt like it was on fire. Stiles didn’t dare to look, he did a few minutes ago, but was too horrified of the sight of his nipples all red and pumped even larger, almost like small udders.

“Hm, I would say you’re almost halfway done. That means we can start the treatment,” he said. He picked up the pump and squeezed it a few times for good measure before he took the two full jars of milk to his desk.

Stiles had a hard time focusing with the pressure so high again, sucking the liquid from his tit, so he didn’t see what the man was doing. He did see when he returned with a large baby-bottle.

“W-what…?”

“You yielded a lot, which is a bit unfortunate, because now you will have to drink it all. I’ve mixed in the herbs that will reverse the spell.”

Stiles shook his head. No. No, that was disgusting. He couldn’t…

Dr Deaton rolled his eyes and clamped his nose closed with his fingers, pushing the rubber teat between his lips as soon as he opened them to breath.

“There. Don’t get fussy. I know it’s not pleasant, but you will have to do it if you want to get back to normal.”

Stiles barely saw him through his tears. This was so fucking weird. He knew that he didn’t have enough strength to hold a glass in his position, but still. A fucking bottle.

Dr Deaton picked up the pump on occasion to make the vacuum stronger, but he didn’t stop feeding Stiles until the bottle was empty. The milk tasted weird. Almost like regular milk, but… minty. That must have been the herbs.

The vet changed nipples and made another bottle.

 

***

 

Stiles couldn’t. He was so fucking full. His nipples were hurting, stomach painful from all that milk and he had to piss so, so, so much.

Dr Deaton was relentless. He didn’t care about the crying, the pleading, just did his job with a professional disinterest was driving Stiles mad.

He shifted his knees, trying to close his legs. Fuck, he needed the bathroom.

Of course, that didn’t skip the man’s attention.

He pulled the bottle back for a second, looking down into Stiles’ glassy eyes.

“What is it now?”

Stiles licked the corner of his lips, catching a drop of milk there.

“I… Ugh… uh, I have to pee,” he admitted. His head felt weird, too light.

Dr Deaton frowned. 

“Well, I guess that can’t be helped. Don’t move,” he said and then disappeared again, leaving Stiles shivering on the table. 

He came back with a bucket.

“Okay, let’s get this under you, he said, putting it down between Stiles’ legs. He opened the zipper on his pants, but paused for a second when he noticed that the boy was actually hard.

Stiles just wanted to die, preferably right then and there.

He could hear Dr Deaton sigh and then he jumped when the man started jerking him off, movements quick and calculated. It only took a moment for him to come and he did almost flop over, if not for the vet getting an arm under him.

“Try to keep it together a bit more,” he said, sounding a bit annoyed. Stiles was dizzy, but the man acted like everything fine, not even twitching when he couldn’t hold it anymore and just started pissing, the stream hitting the bottom of the bucket noisily.

“Come on, drink up. You still have a few bottles to go.”

 

***

 

“Alright, that was the last of it,” Dr Deaton said as he took the suction cup from his nipple. Stiles swayed on his hands and knees.

His head was empty, filled with white noise.

The vet moved quickly, putting everything away and taking the bucked from beneath him. 

“Only one more bottle to go,” he told Stiles, helping him to sit down. He could barely stay on the table. 

Stiles whined, he was too full, he didn’t want to drink anymore, but the teat was quickly pushed into his mouth, an sucking on it was reflex by now.

“That’s it. Just a bit more.”

Stiles leaned against the man standing by the table, he didn’t even mind it when the man started playing with his nipples. It was weird to not have something stimulating them.

He fell asleep almost as soon as he swallowed the last drops.

 

***

 

Stiles woke up on the couch in the vet’s office, feeling hungry and sore, but other than the strain on the front of his shirt, he was back to normal.

He tried to feel happy about it.


	24. Derek/Stiles (Peter/Stiles) - home invasion, rape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Stiles/Derek pairing, home invasion, forced sex, voyeurism please! Thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so this pairing is decidedly not my jam, but I like this prompt, so let’s see how it goes!
> 
> Warnings: rape, home invasion

It wasn’t their usual gig. They almost always chose houses that were empty, but well. The Whittemore-Martin residence had been on their list for a long, long time. Now, the couple was finally gone on a long holiday, and they weren’t about to let themselves be scared off by a single boy left on house-sitting duty.

Naturally, Peter was the head of their little team of three. The house was big and they had to work fast if they didn’t want to get caught. If he wanted to be honest, he wasn’t sure about bringing his nephew, the kid was a ticking time-bomb with a bad attitude, but if they were lucky, they were going to need his bulk.

Going in was easy. Whoever the kid was, he wasn’t from around here, otherwise he wouldn’t have forgot to set the alarm even at night. But it was fine, only made things easier.

Peter and Cora moved together like a well oiled machine, used to doing quick in-and-out jobs, Derek on the other hand was lagging a bit. Of course, he usually did jobs with Laura, collecting loans from people who were reluctant to part with their money, so it was understandable that he was missing the needed subtlety. 

“You just stay here, we will get everything we need,” Peter told him before disappearing up the stairs. Cora was already in the downstairs office, working on the small safe there.

 

***

 

When Peter returned from upstairs - arms full with a jewels, and a medium-sized Sisley (one of his personal favorites) - Derek was nowhere to be seen.

He cursed under his breath, poking his head into the office where Cora was just about to get the stubborn safe open.

“Where the hell is he?”

She shrugged, concentration fully on the task at hand.

“Check the kid’s room,” she told him, making Peter mutter unkind things to himself.

He dropped the loot by the back door and went on to find his wayward nephew. He didn’t have to look for long. The door of the downstairs guest room was cracked open. The lights were off but he had good enough night-vision to see what was happening.

Derek was fucking the kid.

Peter couldn’t help sighing. Just his luck. But once Derek got something in his head, he couldn’t be distracted.

“Hurry up at least, would you?” Peter said as he walked in, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

The kid had his arms tied behind his back with his own underwear stuffed into his mouth. He looked terrified, face red and blotchy from crying.

Derek was giving a real nice work-out to his ass, ramming his hips forward with enough force that the kid made a little keening sound on every thrust.

“Shut up,” his nephew said, which? Rude.

“I hope you’re wearing a condom.”

Even the ski mask wasn’t enough to cover the bitch-face Derek was giving him, so Peter held his hand up in surrender. He had to ask. He felt kind of sorry for the kid. He patted the boy’s face with his glowed hand before he leaned forward to see the damage.

“Don’t worry, boy, there’s no tearing, you will be walking funny for a few days, but you should be okay,” he said, even though it just made him sob harder.

Derek slapped his ass, hard.

“Oh, shut up, you little bitch. It’s not like we are going to kill you.”

Peter rolled his eyes, because that wasn’t exactly calming the boy down. 

Cora appeared in the door, holding the big stack of bonds up in victory. She didn’t speak - it was better not to let people there was a woman among them, because they always assumed that burglars were male.

Peter nodded and nudged his nephew.

“Hurry up, we’re ready to clear out.”

Derek grunted, yanking the kid’s hips up a bit so he could sink his cock in just a bit deeper. The boy whined, squeezing his eyes together.

Peter had a sudden thought and reached under him, only a bit surprised to find his cock hard.

“Well, well, well. It isn’t often we find such an eager victim,” he said with a grin, starting to jerk the boy off, making him struggle ever more.

He had a feeling that if the kid got an orgasm, he would be much less likely to report the rape too - shame was a powerful ally.

Derek growled and came right as the kid shot his load all over Peter’s glows. Damn, now he would have to throw them out.

Derek pulled out roughly, not even bothering with the condom, just zipping his pants up.

The kid was a boneless heap in the middle of the bed, laying in the puddle of his come with his ass red from the rough treatment.

He did actually look lovely, if Peter said so himself.

He felt generous so he pulled the covers up over him.

“Cleaning comes at nine, try to stay still until then,” he shot back over his shoulder as they were leaving.

Another job well done.


	25. Alan/Stiles - I love you - continuation of chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lemurbutt asked:  
> Re: Alan/Stiles prompt - I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to keep to this for a special occasion, and since it’s Christmas, I think it’s finally time! Also, this will be in the same verse as the chapter 5 Alan/Stiles fic, because I absolutely love that au, k?

Stiles really wanted to have a good Christmas - for once he didn’t have a job to rush to - but as soon as he woke up he knew it wouldn’t be. Or at least not an easy one.

A look out the window confirmed what he was already feeling in his bones - the snow did finally arrive. It was sort of a miracle and the local news had been talking about it endlessly.

His stump was aching thanks to the weather and the rush of the last few weeks - just so he could be home in time and not chasing asshole ghosts somewhere in Nebraska. Damn. 

Alan wasn’t in bed, and though it would have made him pout, he was grateful that the man wouldn’t have to see the way he winced when he put his prosthesis on.

Stiles groaned as he stood, making his way down slowly and carefully on the stairs. Having no depth perception wasn’t exactly ideal when he was feeling so unsteady to begin with. He actually broke out in a sweat by the time he arrived to the bottom, and he was pretty sure he had never been so happy to see his wheelchair parked right next to the staircase.

It was weird how a lot of people thought he stopped using it as soon as he was back on his feet, but well. Shit days happened, and just because he had a prosthesis didn’t mean that he wasn’t actually missing a leg.

As soon as he was seated Morris - the three legged black cat - jumped into his lap, curling up, like it was the most natural thing in the world to have Stiles roll him around wherever he went. The little fucker.

The lights were on on the Christmas tree. It wasn’t too big and it wasn’t too pretty either, covered in mismatched ornaments. Some of them - the ones Alan had from his childhood - were actually older than Stiles himself. A bit weary, a bit beat up, but still lovely.

Alan wasn’t in the living room, even though Stiles half-expected him to be just waiting for him to start on the presents. As much as his lover didn’t like to admit it, he was as excited as a kid about Christmas. It was cute, really.

Stiles steered himself towards the kitchen with the purring weight of Morris warm on his lap. He could hear music.

He stopped in the door, just watching, just letting that comfortable, almost achingly perfect feeling swell in his chest.

Alan was making hot-chocolate. The radio was on, playing the Little Drummer Boy - the Boney M. version, if his ears were right - and the man was humming along, swaying on his feet to the melody.

Alan had an awful voice. It was a shame, because Stiles knew that he simply loved to sing, and actually did it a lot when no-one was around. He was singing now too. Not belting out or anything, just murmuring the pa-ra-pa-pum-pum under his breath, like he was afraid that he would wake Stiles.

Stiles knew right then, basking in the yellow light of the kitchen, watching his lover sing off-key to a cheesy Christmas song with snow on the windowsill that he would never forget this moment as long as he lived.

He wanted it to last forever, but Morris was an awful traitor and took that moment to demand breakfast. Loudly.

Alan jumped a bit when he saw Stiles, but his face lit up almost immediately, lovely, dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, handing a steaming mug to Stiles before pecking him on the lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he echoed, grinning like the love-stuck idiot that he was, “I love you.”

Alan’s smile changed into something softer.

“Love you too,” he said before taking a sip of his chocolate and turning away to feed Morris.

Stiles watched his back for a few seconds, hoping that the sentiment would hold until Alan opened the smallest box under the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, my lovelies!


	26. Peter/Stiles - large enema, humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Hello! First of all I love all the very hot porn that you write and I have been thoroughly enjoying myself reading it. Thank you! :). I am not sure if you are taking prompts at the moment or not, but maybe I'll throw that out there just in case.I would love to see you write more of enema, like Stiles being forced to hold a really large retention enema. While sitting on Sheriff's (or whoever's) lap. While other usual characters are watching. Bonus for crying.
> 
> Anonymous said:maybe something w/ someone forcing stiles to hold huge enemas? 
> 
> Anonymous said:Steter, D/s or similar, enemas? Trying not to get carried away, all your stuff is hot as sin anyway…

“Come now, boy, you know you need to be cleaned out properly at least once a week,” Peter said with an eye roll as he filled the bucket to the brim with water.

Stiles - sweet, submissive Stiles - was kneeling on the bathroom floor with his head hanging in defeat. Peter knew that this wasn’t his favorite thing to do; all the more reason to make him do it. He was a firm believer that every boy needed a good colon cleansing from time to time. 

Sure, he made Stiles take an enema every morning, just to keep ass-play less… dirty, but that was nothing compared to their weekly little ritual.

Seriously. Peter could hardly believe that he lucked out like he did with Stiles. They always had chemistry, there was no way around it, but realizing just how well they fit in the sexual department was nearly a miracle.

Peter loved having power. Stiles loved not having any. Easy as that.

He doctored up the water with a bit of salt and soap and put it down, the metal clanking against the tiles and making Stiles flinch.

Peter sighed. He was absolutely sure that Stiles didn’t hate this as much as he showed, but it was hard, and that made him defensive. Not like Stiles wasn’t an excellent submissive, who always tried to do his best, but he still struggled when they did large enemas. It was mostly embarrassment.

Peter got the tubing out from under the sink. It was a simple system, a tube, a bulb for pumping and a nice, large buttplug to keep things from dripping.

“Hands and knees,” he ordered, and Stiles got into position with the fluidity of someone who was perfectly aware of his place in the world. Such a lovely sight.

Peter smiled, patting his flank as he lubed up the plug and pushed it into place. It was a bit of a stretch, but except for a stuttering breath, Stiles took it like a champ. 

Peter closed the lid of the toilet and sat, pulling his cock out.

“Come here, boy. There’s no reason not to enjoy this while we wait,” he said, and watched with low burning hunger as Stiles crawled into place between his legs. The bucket was right beside him, all he needed to do was pick up the bulb and start pumping.

Stiles whined as the first splash of lukewarm water entered him, pale face lighting up beautifully with a blush.

Peter slapped him with his cock to get his attention where he wanted it.

“Hey, now. No lazing around.”

Stiles nodded - just a fraction, like he was scared that the feeling of his belly slowly filling would intensify if he moved too much - and got to work.

Peter loved his lips. They were pink and lush, made to be wrapped around a cock day and night. Coincidentally it was one of Stiles’ favorite hobbies too, he was - often literally - gagging for it.

Unfortunately he wasn’t that enthusiastic about it right this moment.

Peter could almost understand, really. A gallon was much, and he would have felt pity, if not for the fact that they played this game every week.

He grabbed the boy’s hair, pulling hard enough to get those pretty eyes look up at him.

“Stiles,” he said, squeezing the bulb after every word to give a bit more weight to his order. “don’t test me.”

The boy took quick breaths through his nose. He wasn’t panicked, but Peter was sure that he started to feel the pressure build. Stiles didn’t like the cramps. Peter loved to see his body twitch with them.

His words still had the desired effect and the boy finally started doing what he was meant to; choking himself on Peter’s cock as he tried to stuff it down his throat.

Peter leaned back and closed his eyes, pumping the bulb lazily. He didn’t want to go too fast; he had no intention of actually hurting Stiles, and - most importantly - he wanted to enjoy it.

Interestingly enough, this was one of the times when he loved being a werewolf the most. Yes, even human ears would have been able to pick up on the gagging, but with his hearing he could actually listen to all the other things too. The way the water sloshed into Stiles’ belly, the sound of the saliva churning in his mouth, the little squelching noises of his cock hitting the back of his throat.

Absolutely amazing.

Stiles was a mess. He was crying - both from having a dick rammed into his mouth and from the enema - and his nose started running too, chin shiny with drool. Peter smiled, reaching out and smearing the mess all over the boy’s face.

“Look at you, a disgusting little whore, aren’t you?”

Stiles loved it when his voiced got like that, all growly and deep. Peter knew it of course, it was the easiest way to get the boy into the right head space. They were about half-way and he knew the hard part was just about to come.

“You love being like this, hm? Gagging on a cock while your belly is filled to bursting. I know you like to act hard to get, but it’s obvious that you love it,” he said. Stiles’ eyes were losing focus as he listened. He could never get enough of verbal humiliation.

“Do you like to fantasize that you’re pregnant? That you’re growing with a kid?”

Stiles whined, choking a bit. He didn’t stop though, just pushed forward, until his nose was buried in Peter’s pubic hair. Such a lovely little boy.

“Do you think about it being mine? I bet not. A whore like you wouldn’t even know who the father is. Wouldn’t even remember getting knocked up… I mean, let’s be honest, your cunt is nothing but a needy cumdumpster on the best days…”

It wasn’t true of course, but they both enjoyed the fantasy of sharing, of Stiles being used carelessly and publicly. It wasn’t something they would ever do - Peter was way too possessive and Stiles too loyal - but the though was nice.

His words were enough to have Stiles’ eyes rolling back, whole body shaking. He was covered in sweat and twitching from time to time. The cramps, probably. Peter had to keep talking if he didn’t want the boy to get overwhelmed from the wrong things.

“Or do you like to think that your belly is full of come? Or piss? Or both? Both, hm? Just imagine all of it sloshing around inside you, making you round. It would be fitting,” he said, palming the back of Stiles head and pulling it down on his cock when the boy started to whine from the pain “You are barely more than a toilet. I should take you to a truck stop and tie you into a bathroom stall. Ass-up for anyone to take a piss in your sloppy, loose hole…”

He pumped one last time, and it was in. All one gallon of it. Stiles was choking on his cock, desperately trying to get him in deeper like the whole purpose of his life was to suffocate on Peter’s cock.

As much as he would have liked a little more of that, he grabbed a fistful of Stiles’ hair and pulled him off.

The boy was barely there, pupils blown, panting and trying to get back on Peter’s dick.

“Ah-P… ah. Peter, Peter please,” he moaned, voice high. There was a thick line of saliva connecting his mouth with the head of the werewolf’s cock.

“Hm, not so fast. You have to deserve it, boy,” Peter said with a smirk. He loved when Stiles got like this, out of his mind with the need to please and to be used. “Sit back on your heels and show me your tummy.”

Stiles did, groaning as he straightened. Fuck. His belly was huge, round and beautiful. He really did look pregnant, and it set something primal in Peter on the edge.

The boy looked down dazed, like he forgot what exactly they had been doing, his hands flying to his stomach, fluttering on the tight skin.

“Such an obscene sight,” Peter purred. “I know you love it.”

Stiles shook his head, but couldn’t tear his gaze away. His mouth was hanging open, drool dripping onto his bulging belly.

“Yes, you do. Come on, show me. Play with your cock.”

Stiles moved automatically, hand going to grab his half-hard dick. He moaned, long and loud, fingers twitching around the quickly stiffening flesh.

“Just like that,” Peter told him, he reached out with his leg and nudged his toes under Stiles’ balls, rubbing them. 

The boy’s hand sped up, jerking himself with short, quick movements.

“Now, now. You can’t come yet,” Peter warned, making Stiles look at him with round, desperate eyes.

“You have to tell me first. You know what I want to hear.”

Stiles swallowed, fingers jerking both on his cock and on his belly.

“Uh… ah… I. Peter.” He had to close his eyes and start again, voice rough from getting his throat so thoroughly fucked. “Peter… Peter, I love it… I-I love it, thank you, than-thank you for pumping my belly full,” he said, voice hitching sweetly.

That was absolutely lovely.

“Hm. Does it hurt?” He knew it did. All that pressure on muscles not used to being strained from the inside…

“Y-yeah. So. So good, Peter. Hurts so good. I’m so big. I’m so…”

He was obviously lost for words, hand going uncoordinated as he tried to jerk himself even harder.

It was time to let him have his reward.

“Alright, come,” Peter told him, pulling his foot back but only to get some momentum. He waited until the last second and then delivered a light, but firm little kick to Stiles balls.

The boy screamed, cock practically erupting. He doubled over, curling around his round belly and just crying for a few moments. Peter would have been worried, except he knew Stiles well enough by now to recognize the shaking tremors of his body as the intense aftershocks of his orgasm.

His boy loved a bit of a bite with his pleasure. And Peter? Peter loved to provide it.


	27. Sheriff/Stiles - incest, small cock humiliation, watersports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> if you're still taking prompts: stiles/sheriff (or stiles/deaton or stiles/peter), small penis humiliation, dirty talk, and watersports

John didn’t exactly know how he found it. Well, he had been looking for porn, that’s true. Unlike what Stiles believed, he did know how to use a computer.

The truth was, that he didn’t actually like ‘porn’ as in: watching people have sex on camera for money. Come on, he was over forty, he had sex before and got incredibly annoyed by all the fake sounds and position in those videos. It was a mood killer if anything.

Thankfully, the wonderful thing about the internet was that anyone could have a blog. People who just wanted to show their body off and have some - honest - fun. That was the kind of thing he liked.

And he had been looking for just that when he found a blog. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a skinny kid with a… an incredibly small, cute little cock. John couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He didn’t usually look at boys, not like he didn’t enjoy the images, more like he kind of enjoyed them a bit too much. Enough that his thoughts would start to wander and end up in places that he refused to let them. 

It was a fight with his subconscious that had been going on inside his own head ever since Stiles entered puberty and became the pretty, lean twink that he was.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

But… the pictures were right there and he couldn’t not imagine his son. He knew that Stiles wasn’t well endowed - well, he didn’t actually see him naked since he was around ten, but even then he was very small for his age down there - and with that pale, thin body it was all too easy to let his thoughts go to bad places.

Until he scrolled down on the blog - tiny_p_wants_the_d - and something caught his eye.

The other pictures had all been taken in front of a rather generic blue wall, that could have been anywhere, but these… these were taken on a king bed. And the covers on said bed were awfully familiar.

John couldn’t believe his eyes. This couldn’t be true. He quickly scrolled to the bottom of the set where the boy simply wrote: ‘Couldn’t resist playing in daddy’s bed’.

He was sweating as the realization slowly crystallized in his head. He looked over all the other pictures, now with the trained eye of an investigator, and… Yeah, there was the corner of a poster on one, and the edge of the carpet on another. All of them all too familiar, because he was the one who bought that carpet, who painted the walls that exact shade of blue.

He couldn’t decide if this was a fantasy come to life or a nightmare. All he knew that he was so fucking hard that it hurt and that he was fuming with something close to impotent jealousy over his boy going around and showing his body for anyone.

He. Fuck. He didn’t know what to do.

Before he could take a second to calm down or at least try to digest his discovery he heard the front door open and close downstairs.

“I’m home,” Stiles shouted, banging around in the kitchen.

John swallowed, eyes glued to that sweet, delicious body on the screen.

“Stiles, get up here,” he shouted back, unconsciously using his ‘you’re in trouble, young man’ voice.

The boy thundered up the stairs, stopping in the door. 

“Hey, daddy-o! What is it?”

John looked at him, for once letting his eyes linger, taking in his son as he rarely allowed himself.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

“Stiles, close the door,” he said, voice deeper than usual. The boy looked nervous, but did as he was told. John didn’t miss the way he glanced on the bed for a second too long, face unreadable, and… and that was it.

“So, you’ve been playing in my bed?” he asked, standing up and shutting his laptop. Stiles’ face drained of color, back hitting the closed door as he took a step back.

“Wh…? D-dad…” his voice broke, almost like he was back on the verge of puberty. But John couldn’t stop now.

“I saw your pictures. You rubbed your naked body all over my sheets and jerked that sorry excuse of a cock while sniffing my pillow like a little bitch,” he said, unable to stop the words now that they started coming.

Stiles whined, cheeks flushing bright, pupils dilated.

“I… I-I can…”

“I don’t want to hear it, son. Either you get out of my sight, or you get out of your clothes, understood?”

Yeah, yeah he was sick, but he couldn’t do this without Stiles making the final decision.

Stiles was panting, eyes wide with nerves and excitement. He didn’t move for a long moment, and then pulled his shirt off over his head.

John felt something loosen inside him, something that he kept bottled up for way too long.

“Hm… Thought so. You want to show daddy that little stump you call a cock? Get on with it, then.” Fuck. He was so hard, and with every inch of pale, milky skin Stiles revealed he was getting closer to the edge. 

When the boy finally got rid of his underwear his legs felt week. Shit. Shit he was so small. Stiles was obviously hard, but even that didn’t make him much over three inches. Just a tiny nub of a thing.

He stepped closed before he even realized, taking the small cock between two fingers.

“Is that it? Honestly, it looked bigger in the picture. How my own son ended up with this pathetic… thing is a mystery,” he said. Just like he hoped, the words only made Stiles blush harder, prick jerking in pleasure.

John grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled it to his own crotch.

He wasn’t exactly a monster, but he was quite a lot above average, and his son seemed to love to feel of it, if the way he moaned at the contact was any indication.

“Feel that, son? That’s what a man feels like. I have no idea what I should call you, because you sure as hell don’t qualify to be called that.”

“D-dad, _Daddy_ …”

It was John’s turn to shiver.

“That’s right, boy. Get on your knees, time for you to see what a real cock tastes like,” he said, and fuck. Stiles practically fell, like he had been wanting to do that for ages.

He practically tore John’s jeans open, pulling his cock out and groaning at the sight of it.

“Go on, get on with it,” he said, palming the back of Stiles’ head. The boy did, all unpracticed enthusiasm. He wasn’t a pro, and he had trouble taking even half of John, but he made a valiant effort.

Fuck. The way he gagged and still didn’t stop was doing things to him. Stiles barely pulled back enough to cough and take a breath and then he was back, sucking sloppily with a blissed out look on his face.

His other hand - the one not holding onto John’t cock - was sneaking towards his lap, and that just wouldn’t do.

“Now, now. Leave that ridiculous little willy alone. If you don’t have a cock, you don’t get to come with a cock,” John told him, fingers tightening in Stiles’ hair. “You will come when I fuck you, and you are going to be grateful.”

The boy looked up at him with huge, dazed eyes and moaned around the head of his cock, doubling his efforts. John was grateful that he was still standing close to the desk, because he wasn’t sure his legs would be strong enough to hold him. Stiles was absolutely fucking amazing. And beautiful. Everything he didn’t deserved, but still wanted with a burning passion.

“Yeah, son. Make your old man come,” he whispered, and then closed his eyes. He didn’t even notice that he got this close to the edge, but a second later his orgasm washed over him, splashing his seed all across Stiles’ tongue.

The boy blinked up at him slowly after he pulled back, licking the pit of come smeared in the corner of his lips, the image making John swear.

He left Stiles there, needing a second to collect himself and sat down at the edge of the bed, taking a few, long breaths.

“Alright, come here, son. Wanna take a good look at that weenie,” he said, and Stiles did, the little bitch staying on all fours and crawling over, shaking that pert little ass.

John waited until he was between his legs and then pushed him back, making Stiles bow his back backwards.

His little cocklet was still hard, barely bigger than a man’s thumb, really.

“It’s a disgrace, it’s what it is. You’re a shame of mankind. How can you walk around calling that a cock? I should get you a chastity belt - wouldn’t even need one made for guys - and put it on you so you can’t just whip it out all the time like the little whore you apparently are.”

“Y-yeah, Daddy. Anything. Anything you want,” Stiles said. His chest was heaving, pretty pink nipples all pebbled up.

Oh, really?

“Anything? Are you sure about that, son?” he asked, mind a flurry of images, of everything he only ever thought about in his darkest moments. “That’s a lot on offer by someone who has… so very little.”

Stiles moaned, mouth falling open.

“Daddy, I will do anything, anything… just…”

John understood. He understood the need that was so wrong but so powerful, feeling at the same time like the strongest and most fragile thing.

He didn’t want to take it away from Stiles, but he wanted… he wanted things.

He cupped the his face until the boy was focused on his again.

“It’s okay son. Let’s make a deal, hm?” he ran his thumb over Stiles lower lip. “You are going to take, a nice, long drink, straight from your old man, and then I’m going to prod and pull at your tiny little button until you come, okay?”

Stiles sucked his finger into his mouth, eyes falling closed.

“Okay,” he said, like it was a prayer and moved in, taking John’s soft cock into his mouth, gentle and light, looking up at him patiently.

“That’s my boy,” he said as he let go, listening to the sounds of Stiles swallowing, gulping down all that hot piss.

It was amazing that all it took was a coincidence.


	28. Peter/Stiles - shoulder rubs

Stiles has eyes, he has eyes on everyone. It’s a habit that didn’t start from a nice place, it started as a safety measure because nobody noticed when he had been possessed and he won’t let something like that happen again. So yeah. That’s the reason he pays close attention to everyone, and that’s why he notices when something is wrong with anyone in the pack.

The others might be oblivious, but Stiles can’t help but see the way Peter is poised for caving in on himself. Nobody seems to notice the way he holds himself - too still and too rigid. 

He can’t really fault the man, salamanders are bad. They are fire and destruction, leaving behind a line of bodies - blackened and burned. The pack gets too close to ending just like that - clothes singed and slightly smoking by the time they finish with the last of them. But they can’t undo the damage already done; three homes in town going up in flames, taking people with them. Peter comes very, very close to dying in a fire for the third time, and it seems like that’s the end of the rope for him.

Stiles watches. It’s his most valuable skill, paying attention and getting the bigger picture.

Right now the bigger picture is that Peter might go down the deep end again if someone doesn’t do something about the tension that makes him look fragile and deadly at the same time. And as luck would have it, that someone is Stiles.

The pack breaks up pretty quick. Liam gets straddled with burying the bodies - he seems to be good with finding holes anyway - and everyone else goes their own way to clear the smell of burnt flesh from their noses.

Stiles follows Peter to his apartment, and it’s telling proof that the man doesn’t even notice the fact that he is being tailed.

He gives him twenty minutes, sitting in the jeep just a block away and thinking about what to do. He is relatively sure that he won’t get killed, he seems to be one of the few people Peter not only tolerates, but occasionally even searches out. Lydia is the other, but Stiles really doesn’t want to think about _that_ particular mess.

He still doesn’t have a plan when he knocks on the door, but he is confident in winging things for now.

He has to wait a long time for Peter to open up, and when he does, it makes Stiles’ mouth go a little dry. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, hair still dripping water onto his broad shoulders.

“What do you want?” the man asks, steelier than usual.

Stiles fakes a grin and pushes inside.

“Just came over to check on you, you know, in case you combust with tension.”

It’s the worst choice of words possible, but they both know it’s deliberate. And just like Stiles expected, Peter knowing that he’s onto him makes all the difference. His shoulders bunch up a bit tighter, but there’s a spark of cunning interest in his eyes instead of the emptiness from before.

“How very thoughtful,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice, and just like that, Stiles knows he will be okay. He could go, mission accomplished, but he decides against it.

“That’s me, Tactful is my middle name,” he says, wandering deeper into the apartment. Peter trails after him, eyebrow raised.

“And here I thought it was Marek…”

Stiles stops. He is pretty sure Peter isn’t supposed to know that, but well. Paying attention is one of the things they share.

“Point. Sit down,” Stiles tells him. Peter seems dubious and a bit suspicious, but he does. The back of his couch isn’t too high, which is just what Stiles needs right now.

The man tenses when he steps out of his line of sight, but that’s to be expected.

Stiles rubs his hands together to warm them a bit before he gets to work.

The first touch makes Peter jerk, but as soon as Stiles digs his fingers in, practically clawing at the knots of tension he relaxes.

“You are a man of many talents,” the werewolf admits a few minutes later, voice soft and a bit dazed as his muscles are beaten into submission.

Stiles smiles a bit, comfortable in the knowledge that Peter can’t see him. His hands are starting to cramp up, but the man’s skin feels right under his palms, soft and smooth. He smells like shampoo and shower gel - the expensive kind - and warmth.

Stiles tries to tell himself that he’s only here because he needed to make sure Peter wasn’t falling apart at the seams and taking all of them with him, but well. He might have needed something too, to feel like he could still fix things. Maybe not the rampage of fiery supernatural creatures, maybe not everything, but some things. Important things.


	29. Peter/Stiles - pet play, kitten play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bday gift for the lovely @ghouls-beneath, who is one of my favorite people here! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HON, WISH YOU ALL THE BEST!

Peter never thought that he was a cat person, in fact, he was pretty sure he still wasn’t - not really - except that he now had a cat. And it wasn’t even just any cat, it was the sweetest, and occasionally most naughty tomcat he could even imagine.

Peter loved the little shit to bits, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forced to use a bit of discipline from time to time. Sure, he knew that cats were supposed to be more independent and harder to train, but that didn’t stop him.

Especially not with Kitty. The little tomcat had an attitude a mile wide, and if things didn’t go his way, he was prone to take revenge. Like yesterday, when he peed all over Peter’s favorite shoes in retaliation for being ignored.

It was completely justified that Peter had to put him in detention today, but at the same time he still felt kind of bad, so he hurried home after work to put Kitty out of his misery.

Peter couldn’t see him right away as he stepped in, but he wasn’t worried. Kitty tended to sulk.

“Here, kitty-kitty-kitty! Daddy’s home!” he called as he locked the door, toeing his shoes off. The flat was silent, so Peter had to go and investigate.

He found the cat lying in his favorite sunny spot in the living room, curled up in a little ball. Of course, he couldn’t really stretch out, not with the humbler locking his balls behind his thighs. His sack was pulled tight, his testicles looking a bit swollen. Delicious.

Peter crouched down beside him. Kitty acted like he was asleep, but he wasn’t fooled.

“Come now, kitten, don’t be like that. Daddy only did what he had to to teach you a lesson,” he said, ruffling his pet’s hair. Kitty swatted at his hand with his mittened paws.

He finally opened his eyes, looking up at Peter woefully and gave a soft little meow. He was really too cute.

“It’s okay, your punishment is over. Come on, Daddy will give you a bit of milk and then we will take that nasty thing off,” he promised, standing up and heading into the kitchen.

Kitty followed him slowly, he had to crawl carefully if he didn’t want to hurt his poor little balls even more.

Peter poured him a bit of milk, making a coffee for himself while he was at it. Kitty lapped it up, licking his little bowl clean. He really did love his milk.

They went back to the living room, Peter getting comfortable on the couch, waiting for Kitty to join him, except the cat was just sitting by his feet, looking at him accusingly and then started to meow. Loudly.

“What?” Peter asked with an eyeroll, only realizing a second later that Kitty couldn’t exactly just jump up right now. “Oh, I see. That’s fine, kitten, let me give you a hand.”

He gently lifted the cat up, careful not to hurt him, and Kitten was all over his lap the second he was sitting again, pushing his pert little bottom in Peter’s face.

“Alright, alright, just a second,” Peter chuckled, getting the keys from the pocket of his jeans. He unlocked the little padlock keeping the humbler in place, putting the metal contraption on the coffee table. That was all Kitty needed, and he was already stretching out over Peter’s legs, purring as best as he could.

He stroked the cat’s back, enjoying the naked skin under his palm. Such a lovely creature, even if he wasn’t always the best behaved.

He reached down between Kitty’s legs and rubbed his fingers over the cat’s balls, making him meow pitifully.

“That’s okay, Kitty, Daddy is just checking to see if everything is good down here,” he assured. Kitty let him, going so far to arch his back, thrusting his ass in the air to give him better access. Peter shook his head fondly.

“Oh, now you’re acting like a pussycat, hm? My sweet little pussycat with the sweetest little pussy in the world…” 

After he made sure that the cat was okay he took hold of the base of his tail, slowly working it out from Kitty’s hole. It was the ginger tail, with the long row of plum sized beads. Kitty hissed every time Peter pulled one out, his pussy opening up and closing again and again, going dark pink and lovely in the process.

By the time the last one was out, his hole was twitching, blinking at Peter invitingly. He wasn’t one who could refuse it, so he quickly plunged three fingers in. Kitty was still wet with lube - Peter made sure to use enough in the morning to last all day - and his walls were soft and hot, making him want to bury his cock in there. Maybe later.

He pumped his fingers slowly, other hand busy scratching Kitty behind his ear.

“Yeah, you love that, don’t you, kitten? Love it when Daddy gives you all the attention, such a wanton little thing…”

Kitty whined high and needy, pushing his hips back. His cock was hard, hanging between his trembling thighs. Peter changed the angle and aimed for his prostate, finding it on the second try and then keeping his focus on it.

The little tomcat was going wild, meowing and scratching at the armrest, body flushed and covered in sweat right until he came, cock spurting all over Peter’s trousers.

He scooped up the come, offering his fingers to his exhausted little kitten, and he obediently licked the whole mess up, eyes dazed and sated. Of course, it wouldn’t have been his cat if he didn’t bit Peter’s finger when he was finished, but well.

That was cats for you.


	30. Chris/Peter/Stiles - cuddling in a blanket fort

When the Sheriff opened the door for them, they knew they were in trouble.

John looked like he was considering turning them away, even though usually he was the one who convinced Stiles to hear their side of the story whenever they had an argument and the younger man’s tempter got the best of him.

“Hello, Sheriff,” Christ said. Peter had a feeling that he wanted to call the man ‘Sir’, though it would have been awkward, considering that they were around the same age.

Still, Chris believed that it was what you were supposed to call your - sort of - father-in-law.

“John,” Peter greeted. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and he refused to behave like this mess was his fault. Okay, so they might have locked Stiles into the basement while the pack dealt with the witches that came exclusively to target the boy. So what? If he thought that they were going to let him play bait, he was very, very wrong.

The Sheriff gave them a long, heavy look, glancing at each of them with all the protectiveness of a wronged father. Peter was almost certain that he will shut the door in their face, but thankfully he didn’t. He gave a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“He built a blanket fort. For god’s sake, I have no idea what you two did this time, but you’d better make it right.”

***

Stiles’ old room was turned into… well, blanket fort didn’t make it justice. It was a blanket castle, really.

Maybe all his personal belongings disappeared when moved in with Peter and Chris, but apparently that just meant that he had more empty bookcases to move around and hang sheets off.

Chris was equal amounts impressed and worried.

“Go away,” Stiles said from somewhere inside. Not even an inch of the floor was visible, it wasn’t a castle. It was a maze.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Come on, baby, this is absolutely unnecessary,” the werewolf said, staring at a particular point of the construction. He probably heard where Stiles was by the heartbeat.

“Fuck you. Both of you,” the boy shot back.

Chris knew that he was getting riled up again. He knew that tone.

He hit Peter’s shoulder before the man could escalate things further and crouched down, looking in vain for an entryway. He had a feeling that Stiles wouldn’t be happy if the unraveled his creation.

“Stiles, come out. We would like to talk to you,” he said carefully, but all he got was a huff in response.

“Yeah, sure. You want to talk now, but you wouldn’t even listen to my plan, just fucking locked me in there!”

“Seriously?” Peter snarked, uncaring of Chris hitting him in the knee. “You had a mini-fridge, a pool table and a couch down there, it’s not like we chained you to a wall. And anyway. Come on, tell me your bright plan didn’t include you going out there and offering your ass on a silver plate to those bitches.”

There was only silence.

Chris shook his head.

“Stiles…”

“No. No, okay. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. If… if we’re in this together, then I should. I should be trusted too, okay? It shouldn’t be you two acting like you know everything better than me all the time just because you have twenty years more experience. So fuck you,” the boy said angrily, making something in Chris’ chest tighten. He had to admit that Stiles was right to a degree. Peter knew it too, even though he would die before admitting it.

“I know, and we’re sorry,” he said, trying to sound as sincere as he felt.

“Of course. You’re sorry until the next time it happens, and then you will be sorry again. This isn’t the first stunt like this you pulled,” Stiles said, he sounded… dejected. Peter crouched down beside Chris, now looking worried too.

They might have been a bit overprotective of Stiles, but it wasn’t because they didn’t think he was capable enough… maybe they should have communicated that better. Maybe it was too late.

“Stiles,” Peter said in that serious voice he rarely used. It was rare that he was being honest with his emotions, and both Chris and their boy knew that tone.

“Stiles, baby. You are one of the best things that ever happened to us. You are smart and brave and loyal, and we love you for it,” the werewolf said. Chris put a hand around his shoulder when he searched for words.

“We. Chris and I have lost quite a few people who were important to us over the years. I know we are sometimes acting like asses about it - okay, that’s mostly me - but it’s only because we want you to be as far from harm as possible…”

There was no reply from the fort, but Chris thought he could make a last effort. If Stiles really didn’t want to talk to them, they would give him time to think things over.

“Would you come out? Please?”

There was a pause.

“No,” Stiles said, making Chris feel like he just swallowed a brick.

“No, but you can come in, the entrance is behind the door.”

Peter grinned, closing the door and finding the tunnel behind it that led to the depth of the blanket fort.

They didn’t come out until after midnight.


	31. Sheriff&Stiles - forehead/cheek kisses

John knew that there was nothing he could do. He knew the plan, he knew that his part was providing backup if anything went pear-shaped, so he was dutifully sitting at the station, waiting to hear from the pack.

It didn’t feel right. He hated being dependent on a bunch of teenagers to deal with monsters, but he had to admit that they were right. Going there wouldn’t have achieved anything. He couldn’t send his men into a situation they weren’t prepared to deal with - and even though he had a suspicion that quite a few of his deputies had an inkling about what was going on in their town, he couldn’t just throw them into the middle of wendigo hunting.

At least Chris Argent went with them. It was a small consolation when all he wanted to do was to drop everything and get to the preserve. Hopefully before this stupid - shit, so stupid, how could he agree to this - plan got into motion.

Of course, Stiles was playing bait. John was pretty sure that he will strangle his son the next time they meet, because that just wasn’t right. Not even if he was the only human in the pack - and hopefully he wouldn’t trip the wendigo off about their plan.

John should have been the bait. 

They had a huge fight about it, and Stiles - damn that bright, amazing head on his shoulders - somehow managed to shoot down every single argument he had, meticulously, one-by-one.

John knew his kid would become one of the best detectives the state ever had - if he managed to live that long.

He was just about to grab his keys and go, fuck the plan, when the door to his office opened. John clambered up from his chair, knees weak with relief, because Stiles was there, whole and healthy as far as he could see.

He didn’t look good though. He was pale, and a bit shaky, like he saw a bit too much. It was something that John knew too well, could see it often on the face of new recruits, and it broke his heart to see it on his son’s.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, opening his arms. Stiles practically fell against him, hands going around his waist, squeezing John close.

“How did it go?” he asked carefully, hugging the boy back and trying to pat him down inconspicuously to make sure he wasn’t injured anywhere he couldn’t see.

“All according to plan,” Stiles mumbled, but he wasn’t letting go, and neither was John.

“Okay,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss to his son’s temple. Then another, just for good measure. 

And even if it wasn’t, he would make sure that it was going to be okay.


	32. Scott&Stiles - bathing together

“It’s not fair,” Stiles said, voice barely understandable from all the snot clogging up his airways. It really wasn’t. Werewolves not getting sick always seemed like a slap in the face when he had a fever.

Scott didn’t say anything, just sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. Stiles could see he was worried, though. Well, it might had to do something with the fact that he actually called him over to help, which he didn’t usually do unless he was close to dying.

“Alright, what do you need, dude?” Scott asked, sitting down at the edge of the bed and palming Stiles’ forehead with a frown. “You’re too hot.”

“I know, right?” Stiles replied on reflex, making his friend groan.

He wanted to snicker, but ended up sneezing instead and then hissing in pain. Fuck, his head hurt so much.

A second later his headache eased, and he watched in a daze of overwhelming relief as thick, black lines of pain climbed up Scott’s arm. It left him kind of tingly all over.

Scott was frowning again, pushing the sweaty hair back from his forehead when he was finished with the pain sucking.

“I will make you a bath, okay? You just… stay right here.”

Stiles managed to get his strength together to lift an eyebrow.

“Sure thing, I will try not to go on an adventure without you, Scotty…”

***

Stiles actually fell asleep at one point. The next thing he remembered was someone pulling his pj’s off him.

“Huh? Wha…?”

“Hey, dude, it’s just me. I talked to mom, she said I have to get your fever down, so yeah. Come on, up you go,” Scott said quietly. Now that he mentioned it, Stiles faintly remembered telling Scott that he already took something for his temperature… 

Before Stiles knew it, he was lifted off the bed - bridal style - and carried to the bathroom. He made a disgruntled noise of protest, but it was mostly for show. Scott’s chest was incredibly warm against him. Comfy.

His fuzzy feelings didn’t last long, and he immediately started a loud - and surprisingly well articulated - spiel of cursing when they actually got into the water.

It was fucking freezing. He made a weak attempt to claw out of the tub, but Scott was holding him steadily from behind. He only struggled for a few seconds, lacking the energy to do anything more, and then relaxed into it.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s not as cold as it feels, I promise! It’s body temperature. Or well. What your body temperature is supposed to be…” Scott said, sounding earnest and apologetic.

Stiles was too tried to argue, head rolling back to his friend’s shoulder, shivering slightly.

“I can take a bath on my own, you know,” he mumbled, eyes already falling shut.

“Yeah,” Scott said, patting his belly. “I will just stay with you anyway, hm? Your dad will kill me if you manage to drown yourself.”

“Point,” Stiles said on a yawn. The water didn’t even feel _that_ cold anymore. Falling asleep in a tub was a very, very stupid thing to do, but well. He had someone to take care of him.


	33. Peter/Stiles - sharing a dessert

Stiles didn’t know the man in the suit, but he loathed him with all the energy he could muster at eight in the morning on a Sunday.

Sure, it was a travesty to even be awake right now, and the injustice of that was enough to make him hate every single person who looked even remotely collected while he made his best zombie impression, but still. Suit guy had bought the last triple chocolate muffin from right under his nose in the coffee shop.

It was a honest to god _tragedy_ , is what it was.

His brain - working at around 15% right then - had a hard time even comprehending the atrocity. Why would anyone do that? Why would anyone even be wearing a suit on a Sunday morning? How dare he be so fucking good looking?

Stiles watched with bleary eyes as suit guy took the last free seat - the one right next to the window in the corner, the one Stiles had been eyeing since he came in the door - and was planning murder.

He didn’t know yet how he would do it, but he wasn’t studying criminology and forensics for nothing. He will do it and no one will be the wiser.

Stiles bought his own pumpkin spice latte - it was always Halloween as far as he was concerned - but even the sweet smell of coffee wasn’t enough to lift his mood. He looked around the shop, seeing no free table, eyes wandering back to suit guy again and again.

Fuck it.

He stalked over - okay, it was probably closer to stumbling, because _morning_ , damn it - and plopped down in the free chair. Suit guy didn’t seem fazed, he just lifted an eyebrow, stirring his coffee leisurely.

“That,” Stiles told him, eyeing the perfect, untouched triple chocolate muffin between them on the table. “Is mine.”

Suit guy’s eyebrow climbed impossibly higher, joined by it’s twin.

“Good morning to you too, and I think you are mistaken.”

Stiles did his best to channel his inner Lydia and muster up a sufficient death-glare, but if anything, the stranger seemed amused.

“Mine.”

Suit guy shook his head, pulling the muffin closer to himself. Stiles could barely hold back from leaping at him. 

“Nope,” the man said, popping the ‘p’. It was the most annoying sound Stiles has ever heard in his _life_. “I bought it, it’s mine.”

The barista was looking at them with a worried expression, but Stiles didn’t give a fuck. He wanted that lifesaving, chocolaty goodness in his mouth right now.

“Okay. Okay, listen here, asshole. I have a meeting in thirty minutes with my best bro’s fiancee and her maid of honor - who is FYI the most amazing and also terrifying creature to ever walk the earth - and we are going to try wedding dresses in a boutique that has actual gold letters on the window and is only open for us as a fucking favor this lovely Sunday. It will take _hours_ , and I will die, and probably brake something accidentally and I will have to sell my kidney to pay for it. I’ve been up until three in the morning listening to my bro waxing poetic and screaming in panic from pre-marriage nerves in turns and I have a 10 page paper to hand in on Monday that I haven’t even started yet. Give me that muffin or I will fucking kill you.”

Suit guy blinked at him, seeming almost impressed that he could rattle that off with a single breath, then slowly - very slowly - pushed the muffin over to him.

Stiles gave a heartfelt sigh and breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ before he picked it up and took a bite, the still soft chocolate in the middle melting onto his tongue.

He knew he was making noises - of course he was, this was probably the best moment of his life - but didn’t care, not even when he noticed Suit guy watching the way he licked icing off his fingers. He wasn’t letting a morsel of his prize go to waste.

Suit guy drank his coffee slowly, enjoying the show of Stiles slowly and meticulously devouring the muffin, and then stood just as he was finishing up.

He handed over a napkin, a line of numbers written on it in a neat hand.

He gave Stiles a wink, blue eyes twinkling.

“Give me a call if you survive today.”

Stiles looked after him, a bit dumbfounded, because what? How?

All in all, his morning was shaping up to be not quite that terrible.


	34. Sheriff&Stiles - falling asleep together

ohn had always been a light sleeper, and since he’d learned about the supernatural, he was pretty sure he would wake up to a cat walking in the garden.

It was only natural, that he was immediately alert as soon as he felt someone standing in the door of his bedroom. He feigned sleep until he could grab the gun under his pillow and then bolted upright in the bed, hands steady as he aimed at the intruder.

It was a good thing he wasn’t trigger happy.

“Stiles? Damn, kid, I could have shot you,” he said to the silhouette in the door, even though his son barely even twitched.

John put the gun down, heart beating too hard for someone his age. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, because Stiles still wasn’t moving. For a second he wondered if he started sleepwalking again, like he did after Claudia’s death, but the boy finally shook himself.

“I… Yeah, yeah dad, I’m fine, I was just…” he gestured to the hallway like that explained anything. “Um. Just going to the bathroom and thought… Well, thought I would check on you.”

There was something weird in his voice and it took a second for John to figure it out; he knew Stiles was lying, that was obvious, but then he remembered. 

Remembered how his son behaved after they’ve told him that his mother was sick - back when she was still mostly okay. He would come to their bedroom almost every night, and when he was caught, he would start crying that he’d dreamed that his mom wasn’t breathing, and he just wanted to check…

There was only one thing that worked back then to calm him down, and even though Stiles wasn’t a little boy anymore, he would always be that for John.

He put the gun away and opened the covers, nodding at Stiles.

“Come on, kiddo, climb in.”

Stiles just stood there for a moment, body tense. Maybe he was embarrassed, maybe he wanted to laugh the whole thing off or say that he was too old to sleep in his father’s bed, but in the end his shoulders dropped and he clambered over. John tucked him in and lay back, pulling his son closer, acting like he didn’t notice how Stiles’ breath hitched, or the palm settling over his heart.


	35. Chris/Stiles - head scratches

Chris wasn’t proud of falling asleep in front of the TV; if there was something certain in his life, it was that Stiles would tease him about acting like a old man for eternity.

Well, truth be told, he was getting old, old enough that he had to question from time to time what a twenty-something kid was doing in his bed. And in his life. Stiles was… he was the best thing that happened to him since Allison was born, and one of the few things in his life that kept him going even after her death.

So, most of the time he tried not to question it. He had enough life experience to know that good things rarely lasted - for one reason or another - but that didn’t mean he had to try to keep them out, quite the opposite. He had to cherish them for as long as he could.

So when he woke up on the couch with the TV casting washed out lights on the walls to the soft snoring of Stiles, he just blinked his eyes open, and let the feeling of contentedness wash over him.

The boy was stretched out, head pillowed - heavy and warm - on Chris’ lap, breath ghosting over the hair on his thighs where his boxers ended.

He had no idea when Stiles have gotten home. Late, probably. He had been working on his doctorate like a madman in the last few weeks, spending days upon days in the library. It made Chris both proud and a little wistful, longing for the times when they had more time for each other. 

He knew it wouldn’t last forever though, and that was all that he needed. 

Stiles had dark circles under his eyes, prominent even with his face smoothed out in sleep. He claimed that he did his best under pressure, but Chris knew that he stared to work on his thesis a bit too late. He couldn’t help smiling fondly. If anyone could pull of a last minute doctorate - and ace it - it was his Stiles.

He didn’t want to wake the boy, but still couldn’t help touching him, running his fingers through his hair. It was short again, because Stiles got frustrated with keeping it styled and buzzed it a week ago. Chris didn’t mind, he personally thought that Stiles was gorgeous either way.

The boy shifted, nuzzling against Chris’ lap and at the same time angling his head for more petting. Chris was all too happy to obey the unconscious request, scratching his nails gently over Stiles’s scalp.

He had a feeling the boy won’t wake up until morning - not if Chris didn’t do something about it - but it was okay. They had time.


	36. Alan&Stiles - falling asleep together

Scott was going mad with worry. This wasn’t good, wasn’t good at all. 

There was a coven of witches in Beacon Hills, and they’ve decided that they wanted both of the Hale pack’s emissaries, promising to ‘convince’ them to join their little click.

They didn’t seem that dangerous at first, but that had been two days ago, and since then both Alan and Stiles went missing.

The whole pack was in a rage. In the past few years they’ve all came closer together, grew in strength. And with that came Alan reluctantly joining - probably thanks to Stiles’ constant ribbing - and becoming their adviser and Stiles’ mentor.

As cryptic as he used to be when they were teenagers, he kind of grew on them. Sure, Scott knew that the pack had enough problems with their fathers for the whole town, so the vet being around and filling that space in their lives might have had something to do with it… It didn’t matter.

They tore up every abandoned building they could find, but there was still no sign of them. Scott was getting close to panic. And that was before Lydia started to scream. 

With the help of Danny - and a phone one of the witches lost in their first fight - they were finally able to track them down, but Scott could smell the terror on everyone. Because somebody had died, and they had no way of knowing who.

The old summer house in the preserve was so well hidden, that even Derek had no idea that it even existed, and as soon as they got to the clearing, they could smell death in the air. Isaac was white as a sheet, and Boyd was growling constantly. Erica’s hand was shaking, though she tried to hide it.

They couldn’t hear heartbeats from inside, and that almost made Scott lose control, until Lydia pointed out the runes smeared on the walls. They were meant to lock everything inside, giving them a tiny glimmer of hope.

Boyd was the one who tore the door down, raking his claws over the runes, and just like that, they could hear people breathing inside.

When they stormed in, they expected a lot of things. Gore, destruction, despair.

Their emissaries dozing on the couch with the bodies of the witches piled neatly in the corner was not one of them.

Alan was sitting up, head resting on the back of the couch. He was snoring.

Stiles - in usual Stiles fashion - was lying across his lap, body twisted at an awkward angle, one hand hanging to the ground, the other caught between Alan’s back and the couch. He was muttering about curly fries.

“Fuck my life,” Erica breathed before she started laughing hysterically, everybody joining in. 

Lydia took a picture of the pair of them before smacking Stiles in the head.


	37. Peter/Stiles - mechanical bull riding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, so bear with me: Peter Hale doing this as a strip tease - only in sexy, of course. bootyunitDOTtumblrDOTcom/post/152451060559

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s this video [this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgYNUXb4IEo) (it’s not the link anon provided, because I was blessed enough to find the full version on yt) which I’m sure everyone already saw. If you haven’t, I salute your determination to have a life outside of this hellsite.
> 
> Also, this isn’t exactly sexy, but… yeah.

Stiles had no idea how they’ve all ended up in a country bar of all places. 

Well, okay, it wasn’t a _real_ country bar, more like a country bar for city people? Yeah, yeah that sounded closer to reality. He didn’t want to be a dick, but he seemed to recall that real country bars were not exactly gay friendly.

 _Anyway_.

There they were, the whole gang; Malia, Kira, Scott, Derek and Peter. In a pseudo-country bar. Now that Stiles was thinking about it, that sounded like the beginning of a joke. 

Three wolves, a coyote, a fox and a guy walk into a bar…

Okay, yeah, he was way too drunk to think up a punchline for that. Thankfully he wasn’t alone with that. Peter - sitting close beside him, the fucking tease - brought a little flask and he kept spiking the drinks of the supernaturally inclined company, so that was a plus. It was interesting to watch everyone drunk; Kira was a crying drunk, Scott and Derek were cuddly - currently with each-other - and Peter and Malia were sort of mean. But Stiles had a feeling that last one had little to do with the alcohol.

Stiles liked to think that he was a fun drunk.

“I bet,” he said, listing a bit to the side and falling against Peter’s side as he motioned to the mechanical bull in the middle of the bar. “I bet that you can’t stay on that thing for two minutes.”

See? He was _fun_.

Peter raised an eyebrow. He was dressed in a three piece suit, impeccable as always, but his hair was a bit disheveled, and Stiles prayed to every deity he knew that he would have enough self-control not to blurt out how much he wanted to run his hands through it.

“Oh? And what are you betting?” Peter asked with a grin, his teeth shining in the colorful lights flashing across the place.

Stiles frowned, trying to focus.

“Um. Whatcha want?”

Peter pretended to consider it while Malia snickered at Stiles’ other side.

“Hm, I think… Should I win, you will come have dinner at my place,” he said, looking at Stiles intently. “And should you win, I will be willing to have dinner at your place.”

Stiles blinked, That didn’t sound so bad. A part of him was screaming that this was a trap somehow, because, well. Peter. But then again. Food. Food was good, no matter the situation.

“Deal,” he said, nodding a bit more enthusiastically than he intended, shaking Peter’s offered hand.

The man smiled, standing and getting out of his suit jacket, throwing it at his daughter before fucking winking at Stiles.

As soon as he disappeared in the crowd to talk to the operator Malia leaned in. 

“You realize you’ve just agreed to a date, right?” she asked, smirking.

Wait what?

Oh. Yeah. Well. He would keep off panicking about that until tomorrow. Personal crisis went well with being hung-over; misery likes company and all that shit.

It didn’t take long for Peter to saunter through the crowd and hop on the back of the mechanical bull, just as some cheesy song started playing. 

Stiles grabbed the edge of the table, because just seeing Peter straddling that thing sent his brain to places better left unexplored. The man turned his head and ginned from ear-to-ear just as the bull lurched into motion. 

Peter waited a second or two to get the hang of the machine and then pushed himself up, jumping on the bull’s back in one smooth motion.

The whole bar broke out in cheers, which was a good thing, because at least nobody heard Stiles’ jaw hitting the floor with a loud thunk.

Malia laughed into his ear, slapping his back hard enough that he almost fell out of the booth, but he couldn’t care less, because Peter was fucking surfing on that thing, smiling at the adoring audience he quickly gathered and then…

And then he unbuttoned his vest, throwing it at Stiles.

Even Derek and Scott got out of their two-person-cuddle-huddle to watch.

Stiles didn’t think there was a person in the whole establishment who could tear their eyes away from Peter dancing at the top of the machine, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Fuck his life. Fuck his life _sideways_.

Peter preformed a perfect step sequence, dropped back to his ass and let the bull lurch him back and forth, working his hips to keep his balance before hopping back to his feet. Stiles was going to faint or combust. Or both.

He watched with his mouth turning treacherously dry as the man stood at the very end of the bull, keeping his upper body level even with the machine trying to buck him off. Like a fucking chicken with their motionless head no matter how hard you shake them.

Not like Stiles ever shook a chicken. Though, to be honest, he kind of wanted to shake Peter. And do other things to him.

Yeah, no. _Irrelevant_.

Peter smirked right at him, loosening his tie and trowing that to him too. Stiles didn’t catch it. He didn’t have working reflexes even when he was sober, but he did snatch it up the floor before the blond cowgirl standing next to their boot and hooting at Peter could dive for it.

That was not on.

Stiles shifted in his seat, watching Peter’s ass as the man turned around to show it off. 

On second thought, he might not be a fun drunk. He might actually be a horny drunk. That had to be it. Yup.

Peter laughed as the crowd went mad and slowly started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Stiles was going to die.

Before he could succumb to his untimely demise, the bull suddenly stopped, making the patrons groan in unison.

“Two minutes up,” shouted the operator from somewhere as Peter jumped off, walking over to him like a predator stalking prey.

Stiles swallowed, feeling himself turn bright red from those eyes on him.

Peter leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“That was fun… Wonder when I’m gonna get another chance to have such a sweet ride,” he said.


	38. Peter/Stiles - kindnapping, noncon, somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A gets sick, too bad Person B can’t take them to the doctor. Person B will just have to take care of them, the only way an obsessed kidnapper knows how.

Peter hummed under his breath. His boy didn’t look good at all; his brow was sweaty and he was burning up. He was barely conscious.

“My, my. What happened, sweetheart?” he asked quietly. Stiles didn’t reply, just moaned, tossing on the bed.

Peter shook his head, stroking the boy’s neck. He hoped it wasn’t anything serious. If he wanted to be quite honest, human illnesses were not his area of expertise. And it was a bit annoying. He hoped to introduce his pet to the wonders of knotting on the full moon that was only a week away, and he didn’t want to do that if he couldn’t fully enjoy it.

Usually he was as far from maternal as a werewolf could get, but he worked hard to get himself his own little fuckpet. He’d spent weeks watching the college campus, looking for someone suitable, setting up his basement… It had been a huge hassle and he wasn’t about to throw him out just because his cold was inconvenient.

He fed the boy chicken soup and made him drink some tea.

Then again, Stiles turned out to be a smart cookie, if his three escape attempts on his first week in captivity were anything to go by, so he didn’t untie him. That would have to wait until they were properly mated on the full moon. Humans were weak, and the bond with an alpha would be enough to keep the boy obedient. Maybe even adoring, if Peter put in a little extra effort.

***

Peter let Stiles sleep for a few hours; the boy definitely needed the rest, and he needed to escape the hot air of the basement that was permeated with the scent of sickness. Even with the small window open, he needed a bit of room to breath.

***

By the time afternoon rolled around, Stiles was looking much better. He was still flushed; pale, naked body stretched out on the bed in the basement, but just from his smell, Peter could tell that the worst already passed.

And that was good, because Peter was horny. 

He sat down on the side of the bed, stroking his hand down Stiles’ chest, grinning as he broke out in goosebumps. He still had a bit of a temperature, but nowhere near the high fever he had in the morning.

“I see you’re feeling better,” he said, not expecting a reply. The boy must have been exhausted by the sickness, because he was sleeping deeper than he ever managed since he became Peter’s ‘guest’.

He smiled and untied Stiles’ wrists from the headboard, turning him on his side, his hands roaming over that light body, working the muscles. He didn’t want his boy-toy to lose his mobility after all.

Peter kicked off his shoes and lay down beside the boy, turning him on his side. He hasn’t fucked him since yesterday, and he was itching for it. They probably both were, though Stiles still lived in denial. The fact of the matter was that the bonding already started. Sure, knotting during the full moon would be the actual sealing of the deal, but that didn’t mean Peter hasn’t been building up a dependency in the last weeks.

Like right now. It was enough to slide his fingers between Stiles’ asscheeks for his hole to relax, and his body to break out in a shiver. So responsive. So beautiful.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just let me take care of you. My grandmother used to say that it was good for humans, you know. Getting a nice, thick, daily dose of were’ come straight into their hungry little holes. It’s a home remedy, if you will.”

Stiles didn’t reply, but that was all okay. Peter didn’t need to hear his nagging about wanting to go home. This was the boy’s home now, and with time he would come to love it, and the place it meant at Peter’s side. Or by his feet, depending on the mood.

His hole was dry, so Peter spit on his fingers, and then started prodding at him again. Humans had surprisingly adaptable bodies. If he played his cards right and managed to deepen the bond enough, Stiles would be able to produce his own slick one day - anything for his mate. 

Peter really did love the magic of mating.

He worked in two fingers slowly. The spit was not really great, but he was too lazy to get up for lube, and Stiles would have to learn to take his pleasure with a side of pain, because that was how Peter liked to give it.

The boy moaned - quiet and pathetic - but didn’t wake. It made him wonder how much he could do, so he leaned forward, letting his fangs drop and biting down where Stiles’ neck and shoulder met. He still tasted a bit like sickness, but he also tasted like so much untapped potential that Peter couldn’t care less about that. He was careful not to break the skin as he bit down, and the boy’s body jerked in his hold, his lovely little hole twitching around the fingers working in it.

Stiles still didn’t wake.

Peter licked over the already vivid bruise in the shape of his teeth and pulled his hand back, quickly unbuckling his pants. He’d waited enough.

It was hard to push into the boy. Oh, his body was cooperative enough, but Peter was a bit too well-endowed, and it was a struggle to pop the fat head of his cock inside.

Stiles mewled like a kitten in heat, it was music to his ears.

Bottoming out was pure bliss, and Peter spent a few, long seconds marveling at the heat enclosing him. Sure, part of it was the still lingering fever, but still. He’d never had an ass this amazing. He gave a slow thrust. Then one more, testing the slide. It was rough with so little lubrication, but that just made him want to do it harder.

Maybe it was a good thing that Stiles was knocked out, because he surely wouldn’t have enjoyed Peter fucking him hard and fast with only a bit of spit to slick the way. 

The drag of that poor, abused little hole against his cock was better than anything Peter ever felt, and it would have been hard to hold himself back, even if he cared to do it in the first place.

He pushed the boy over to get into a better position, enveloping his prone body with his own. It let him slide in deep and get enough momentum to really nail him to the mattress. The bed was creaking underneath, and Peter could already see new bruises forming on Stiles’ hips where he was holding onto him for purchase.

Peter came with a growl, his balls emptying into Stiles’ hole, it made everything slick and sloppy in an instant - what with him producing more come than a human - and the sounds of it squelching and bubbling out… Those made everything better.

When he was done he got up with a grunt, leaving the boy on his belly, with his legs parted, come leaking from his hole and dripping down onto his balls.

He retied Stiles’ wrists, and patted his ass before going upstairs to finally have some sleep.

He had no doubt that the boy would be furious with him, when he woke and felt his hole loose and sloppy, but that was more than alright.

Anger only lasted so long in the face of a mating bond.


	39. Peter/Stiles - unusual pet (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A and Person B have different opinions about what constitutes as a “household pet”

“No,” Peter said with feeling. He wasn’t sure he could have said it with more feeling. “How did you even…? These… these _things_ aren’t supposed to be kept like this, Stiles!”

The bird looked at him and did not blink, the setting sun glinting off it’s - big, sharp - beak.

“It’s not a thing, Peter! She’s an eagle,” Stiles told him proudly, like he had anything to do with the creation of the species. “She’s a fantastic pet, you will see! Very useful.”

“No,” Peter told him again, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You can’t just… You can’t keep an eagle on the balcony, I don’t think that’s even legal.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow, petting the eagle. For a second Peter thought it looked like the raptor would take his eye for the effort - would have served the little shit right - but in the end managed to contain the obvious hatred lurking under its feathers.

“Says the guy who committed quite a few murders,” the boy snarked. The eagle took that moment to give out a shrill… _sound_. It made Peter’s ears hurt.

“It looks like _it_ committed a few of those too,” he bit back, motioning towards the bird, who flopped her wings menacingly in return.

Stiles looked insulted.

“Athena would never! She is a proud golden eagle, and the only crime she has is being too gorgeous.”

Peter turned on his heels and headed back to the living room, unable to shake off the feeling that the stupid bird was still watching him. Thankfully Stiles followed him inside.

“Come on! I swear to god, she will be great! You hate it when the pigeons shit on the balcony, right? Well, Athena will keep them away! She also needs little care, you would be surprised how much golden eagles laze around; more than lions, I think. You won’t even notice that she’s here! They are like, just awesome animals! Did you know that some people in Asia use them to hunt wolves?… and-”

“Stiles,” Peter said, stopping him in his tracks, because thank you, that was just enough of that. 

“One. You can _not_ keep a golden eagle on my balcony. I will not allow it. Two. The pigeons could be scared away by a cardboard cut-out of a fucking crow, I don’t need an actual murderbird for that. Three. Did you just hear what you said? They are used to hunt _wolves_?”

Stiles stopped in his tracks, obviously going back over what he said in his head and then winced. 

“Um.”

“ _Um_ ,” Peter copied. “Get rid of that thing. Now. I can’t believe that I have to be the responsible one in this relationship.”


	40. Peter/Stiles - relationship trouble (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Person A is angry, they refuse to do the laundry, which is Person B’s least favorite chore. chaos ensues

It all started back when Stiles was in college. He would drag himself - and his laundry - to Peter’s for the weekends. The man was a master in anything concerning clothing, washing and folding and ironing them included. Stiles, on the other hand… Let’s just say that it was no coincidence that most of his wardrobe consisted of things that could handle rough treatment.  
  
They were a perfect match like that.  
  
Except when Peter was pissed about something, because then Stiles would be left to rot in the guest bedroom with nothing but the smell of his unwashed clothes for company.  
  
That was all in the past now, mostly. Housework was divided between them equally, though Peter still demanded to be in charge of the laundry, slipping things into Stiles’ side of the closet whenever he felt like it, slowly but surely switching out his worn clothes to things that cost a fortune and looked like it too.  
  
Stiles didn’t mind it for the most part, it was almost charming if he had to be honest.  
  
But then, then Peter had to go ahead and throw his favorite, decade old Captain America shirt out. That was a travesty that couldn’t be left without a word, and completely unsurprisingly that ‘word’ managed to blow into an argument…

“But it was my favorite! I want it back, okay? Like, I don’t even know what your problem was… It still looked good-”

“Good?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow, but not an amused way, more like a ‘you’re a little shit and I wish I could get away with another murder spree’ way. “That shirt did not look good. It was faded and torn at the armpit, it was practically coming apart at the seams.”

Stiles threw his hands in the air, almost falling on his face as he turned around, because he’d thrown all his clothes out of the closet when he searched for his shirt. His best shirt, okay?

“Well, I’m sorry that it wasn’t up to your standards, Peter! I still liked it, not like you care, apparently.”

Honestly, he didn’t know why he was so angry. Realistically, it was just a shirt. If he went to a second-hand shop, he would like find one just like that in the dollar bin.

“Oh, come on, Stiles, it was ugly and… you can do so much better than that,” Peter bit out. And seriously. Ouch. Ouch, because he could see what this was about now, and he really didn’t like it.

He turned back, feeling himself cool down instantly. Oh, he was still angry, but it was not the hot anger anymore - that could be stomped out with some grade-A hate-sex - no, this was the icy one, the one colored with injustice and disappointment.

“So that’s it, right? You just. You don’t like how I dress, is that it?”

Peter - uncharacteristically - didn’t see where this was going. Maybe he was still at the hot anger part.

“Well, yes, you have to admit…”

Stiles didn’t let him finish.

“Right. Okay. Well, tough luck there, buddy, because in case you haven’t noticed in the last three years, I’m not… I will never be the kind of guy you seem to want. I won’t stop wearing nerdy shirts and flannel and liking pizza just because my fucking high-profile boyfriend is too embarrassed by me.”

Peter stopped dead, and for a second it looked like he wasn’t even breathing.

He didn’t deny it, though.

Stiles shouldered past him, too bitter to even glance at him.

“I’m taking a walk.”

***

He still wasn’t sure what to do by the time he got back two hours later. He did manage to get his rationality back, but the thought that Peter was so… so fucking set on changing him, that he just wasn’t good enough was still heavy in his mind.

Maybe they could do with some time apart. Not like Stiles wanted to break up, he wasn’t an idiot, and despite what most people liked to assume, Peter did make him happy, even with all the assholery and all the prickliness.

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t be best to cool down separately, think over things.

The flat was empty by the time he got back, and it made the cold weight in his belly squirm. He didn’t expect to kiss and make up just like that, but this - the note on the blackboard saying that Peter went for a run - made things even harder.

Stiles took out his suitcase from the hallway closet with a deep sigh. It had been a long time since he visited his dad anyway.

It didn’t even occur to him that the mess he made in the bedroom was gone, it only hit him when he opened the closet to pack.

All his stuff was back in their place - some of them freshly washed and dried, from the smell of it - color coordinated and stacked perfectly.

Stiles huffed out an amused breath, noticing how his graphic shirts weren’t pushed to the back like they regularly were, but were sitting mingled with his new, fancy ones Peter got him.

Yeah. Yeah, Peter stopped doing the laundry when he was angry. But apparently he could also use it to say sorry.


	41. Peter/Stiles - misunderstanding (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A tries to get out of arguments with sex. Person B feels like they need to talk about that.

“I can not believe that my life has come to this, but… No. No, Stiles, no sex,” Peter said firmly, making the boy advancing on him freeze in his tracks.

“I… what? What does that supposed to mean?” he asked, as close to whining as he could get after growing out of his teenage years. Which was pretty close.

Peter shook his head, taking a step back.

“Stiles, we are having a perfectly good argument. And you always - every single time - end those with sex. That’s not…” he looked heavenwards, because seriously? Was this his life now? Was this punishment? “I can’t believe that I’m the one who has to say this, but that’s not an emotionally healthy reaction.”

Stiles blinked, his mouth hanging open, like a fish out of water. Oh god. This was really going to be Peter’s responsibility, wasn’t it?

“I mean, I’m the last person who can school people on that, but sometimes… sometimes we should talk things out…” 

Stiles was still silent, his eyes going rounder with every word.

“In fact, I think we should talk _this_ out, right now. Sex is not a good coping mechanism to our problems, alright? I want… I mean. Oh, _fuck it._ If we want this relationship to work we can’t just fall into bed every time we disagree about something,” he said.

Was this what being an actual adult feel like? Because Peter didn’t like it.

Finally - thankfully - Stiles closed his mouth with an audible click.

“Peter, we were arguing about what colored cushions to buy for the couch,” he said in a strained voice. Which - true. That didn’t mean they could solve the whole thing with cock sucking. No matter how appealing the prospect was.

“Yes, Stiles, I know. But the fact you immediately got _that look_ on your face makes it obvious that you planned to stop that argument by throwing yourself at me,” he said. He knew that look, okay? Intimately.

For a second it looked like Stiles crumbled in on himself; his head bent, shoulders hunched, shaking. It was enough to fill Peter with dread. Did he fuck it up? Did he do something completely…

Oh wait. 

Stiles was laughing. He was laughing his ass off.

“What?” he barked, because seriously? He was trying to be supportive here, and he didn’t appreciate feeling like he missed a step on the staircase.

Stiles actually had tears in his eyes when he looked up.

“I just think you’re hot when you’re mad,” he choked out, barely able to hold himself together. “You get all steely-eyed and your jaw does that ticking thing. It’s hot,” he said between giggles. “I’m not trying to get out of arguments, I just get turned on.”

Oh. Well, in that case there was no reason not to proceed, right?


	42. Peter/Stiles - arguing about vacation (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A likes warmer weather, Person B likes colder weather. It makes planning vacations very difficult.

“Noooooooo,” Stiles said with feeling. “Who the flying fuck goes on vacation to Canada? That’s like, the opposite of fun. And it’s cold. Like, really cold. And moose. They have _moose_ , Peter! Herbivore deathmachines!”

Peter raised an eyebrow, not letting Stiles get to his laptop to click away from the perfectly _fine_ cabin in the woods he was looking at.

“Well, Mounties are hot. And I assure you, I can protect you from moose, Stiles,” he said.

“Oh! ‘I can protect you from moose, Stiles’” the boy repeated in a very poor impression of Peter. He did not sound like that. “Have you even seen a moose? I’m pretty sure those things can destroy a fucking truck. Maybe even a monster truck… That would be an amazing show, by the way: _Moose vs Monster Truck._ Oh my god. Anyway. Nope. I’m vetoing Canada.”

Peter sighed. Sometimes… sometimes he wondered what the hell he was doing with such a little shit. 

“Alright, Stiles. Darling. _Sweetheart_. Do you have a better idea?”

The boy cackled like a maniac, seemingly unaffected by the sarcasm dripping from Peter’s voice.

“Oh, do I have one… Hawaii. Puerto Rico. Any place that is warm and has a beach, basically. I want to get a tan,” he said, staring into the air like he was already seeing himself lying under an umbrella, sipping a fancy cocktail with a decidedly smaller umbrella in it.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Snow-white, but the only thing you would be getting would be skin caner. Or at least a horrendous sun burn. And I would laugh at you, and tell you that I’ve told you so.”

Stiles shot out his tongue at him.

“Yeah? Well what if my wonderful boyfriend put some sunscreen on me, hm? What about that? I wish I had one of those, right?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“If you think I’m going to touch your overheated, smelly, sweaty body in any sensual capacity, you’ve got another thing coming, mister.”

“Ugh,” Stiles said, eloquently. Little shit. “I guess we have to settle this the gentlemen’s way,” he said dramatically, flopping down to the couch beside Peter. He closed the laptop - which, rude - and wiggled his eyebrows like an idiot.

“And what would that be?”

Stiles grinned.

“Whoever manages to make the other come first gets to decide on our vacation,” he said, diving for Peter’s belt.

Oh well. He could live with that.


	43. Peter/Stiles - Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A and Person B agreed that Valentine's day is silly and they would just skip it. Person A is very peeved to find a present left for them on the table.

Stiles actually planned the perfect day for them. He would sleep in, Peter would wake up early - as usual - and make himself some gourmet breakfast. Then Stiles would get up whenever the hell he wanted and would stuff his face with the _amazing_ , bacon flavored cereal he found at the discount bin of the supermarket. Peter almost didn’t let him ride in the car with him when he saw it, but fuck it. _Bacon cereal_.

Then Stiles would insist on watching Dirtiest Jobs until he annoyed Peter into fucking off to his study like a sullen first grader… And if all went well, their day would continue in the exact same way.

Ah, Valentine’s day, the most wonderful day of the year.

It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t like doing couple-y things, or that he didn’t love Peter. He was just… okay. Let’s be real; he was a spiteful little shit and refused to have the kind of fun people expected from him. And Peter agreed. They would have a shitty day full of bickering and then have awesome make-up sex - strictly after midnight. It was a tradition by this point.

It all went well at the start. He woke up alone, smacked a quick kiss on Peter who was watching some pretentious thing on the Food Network and headed to the kitchen. He already knew he would get no more smooches for the rest of the day if he ate what Peter considered ‘and atrocity to nature and a complete disregard for human life and honor’. Heh. Good.

Stiles sat down, tearing the box open. He didn’t know the brand, but he didn’t care. It could have been toxic waste as far as he was considered as long as it also tasted like bacon flavored cereal.

He poured half of the box into his bowl, only to hear something clatter at the bottom. Oh? Did it also come with a present? Damn, this was the best day of his fucking life.

Stiles rooted around in his cereal until he found what he was looking for, it was cold and round and… 

Stiles looked at the ring, blinking in disbelief, like he ended up in a different dimension. It was a simple, steel ring with little runes etched into it. There was a little tag hanging off it, and Stiles smoothed it out with shaking fingers.

_Good against fairies. Also, marry me?_

He got up, feeling like he was in a trance and stopped in the kitchen door, looking at Peter like he was seeing him for the first time.

“What if I ate it accidentally?” he asked, voice wobbly. Peter craned his head to look at him, grinning.

“It would have came out on the other end, darling. It should be stainless anyway,” he said.

Stiles burst out laughing. Yeah. Yeah he could do this.


	44. Derek&Peter - secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A has a secret and is going to tell Person B finally. Person B has known since high school and didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret.

Peter didn’t roll his eyes when his phone flashed with Derek’s number, but it was a close thing. It was an instinctive reaction, okay? 

He bet it was about Christmas. He still couldn’t recall what made him invite Derek back for the holidays, it made no fucking sense. Maybe he’d been enchanted. Or too drunk on his town finally being more-or-less disaster free and almost normal. Yeah, that had to be it.

Hopefully Derek was calling to cancel on him.

“Hello, dear nephew,” he said, picking up just before it could go to voicemail.

“Hey, Peter.”

Silence.

“Did you only call so we could listen to each-other breathe over the phone? Because people keep telling me I’m the creepy one in the family and I would love to prove them wrong,” Peter said, pouring himself a finger of whiskey. Nothing better to make socializing with his family more bearable.

Derek huffed out an annoyed breath on the other end of the line.

“Don’t kid yourself, you will always be the creepy one,” he said. “But I didn’t call to state the obvious. I was… I was wondering if I could bring a plus one for Christmas?”

Apparently whiskey burned like hell when it went down the wrong pipe. It took him a few seconds to get his breath back. And hack up a lung in the process.

“You what? Did you get a dog?”

Derek growled.

“ _No_. I’m. I’m seeing someone,” his nephew admitted, already sounding defensive and Peter haven’t even started yet.

“Oh? Is she a hunter? No, wait. Is she the family roasting type of hunter, or more like the gun for hire sort of hunter?” Peter asked, making himself sound sweet. As much as he was capable.

In the moment of silence that followed, he got his hopes up that Derek disconnected, but alas, it was not meant to be.

“He. The person I’m seeing is a he. And he’s not a hunter. I checked. Multiple times.” Derek said, sounding a bit vulnerable, and Peter had the strange feeling that it wasn’t about the hunting thing. Then what?

“Ooookay. Well then, bring him along. But if he kills us, I’m telling you right now I will personally roast your ass in hell until the end of time.”

Silence again. Derek was a pleasure to talk to.

“Don’t you… I mean. He…” there was a sigh, like Derek was bracing himself. “I’m gay. Well, not, not _gay_ , but bi. Or pan. Whatever. Not straight.”

Peter blinked at his reflection in the window. Was he already drunk? Or did he miss something?

“Okay? Everybody knows that, why are you telling me? You’re bi and…? Wait. Are you into bestiality stuff? Is he _actually_ a dog?”

Derek snorted out a laugh that was stuck between hysterical and relieved. 

“What do you mean…? How do you… how the _hell_ do you know that? And he is not a dog, okay? Not an animal. Human. One hundred percent,” he blurted out, sounding close to a panic attack.

“Oh, come on… There were three whole pages of your diary dedicated to little hearts with Jason+Derek written into them. It’s not like it was a secret,” Peter told him with an eye roll.

Derek made a sound like a dying whale.

“ _You’ve read my diary?!_ ”

Peter had to grin, because seriously? How were they related again?

“Derek, you were _fifteen_. And you had a _diary_. I’ve read it, your mother read it. Your father read it. I mean, come on. What if you had a secret?”

“I’m gonna hang up now,” Derek told him, high pitched like he was a pup again whose voice haven’t quite settled yet.

Peter shrugged.

“Fine. See you on the 24th, bring Cujo.”

“Sure,” his nephew wheezed before disconnecting.

Well. That was weird.


	45. Peter/Stiles - ranting (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A stops themselves from ranting about their favorite things, because they are sure no one wants to hear them. Person B is trying to break this habit

Stiles was muttering, playing with his 3ds in the living room when Peter got back from his run. That was nothing unusual.

“What are you doing?” he asked, acting nonchalant as he got some juice out of the fridge.

“Ugh… It’s nothing I’m just trying to breed this fucking Salazzle, and seriously, every single one that six IVs so far had been… Yeah, no, never mind. I’m just having shit luck,” the boy told him, frowning down at his game and about to close it.

Peter considered him for a second. He knew - of course he did, being well informed (or ‘really fucking nosy’ as Stiles put it) was one of his strong points - that Stiles used that game as a stress relief.

He also knew that much like with every other thing, it took his boy to go from zero to obsessed in about a week, but for some reason he always cut himself off when Peter asked about it.

Alright, he might have made a few snide remarks about video games at the beginning of their relationship, but at the same time… Stiles was clearly very involved in this whole pokemon thing and that did things to Peter.

It made him feel curious and on top of that, he was starting to get jealous both of how much energy Stiles put into the game, and of how much fun Peter was - apparently - not having.

“Are you going for a timid or a modest nature?” he asked, watching from the corner of his eyes as Stiles almost failed himself off the couch.

“What? I… a… _what_?”

Stiles sort of squeaking in surprise was dangerously close to adorable.

“I mean, more fire power is good, but in certain situations speed can be better… especially with such a glass canon,” he said, leaning back against the fridge and grinning as Stiles’ eyes grew wide.

“How… how do you know this stuff? I thought you didn’t care?”

Peter shrugged.

“Well, you kept playing, and I got curious, so I looked into the whole ‘pokemon battling’ thing, and it turned out to be very much strategy based. Predicting your opponents moves, covering your bases for weaknesses, all the different sets you can use…”

As much as he hated admit it, he really found it quite fascinating.

Stiles looked at him for a long moment, blinking owlishly, then he smiled. It was one the rare, heart-felt ones.

“Hm… I see. Well, would you care to give me some advice, oh, master of strategy and cunning? I’m putting a team together, but I’m a bit stuck.”

Peter finished his drink and strolled over, throwing himself down beside Stiles.

“I thought you would never ask.”


	46. Peter/Stiles - ASL (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After losing their hearing , Person A is struggling to learn sign language. Fortunately, Person B is surprising fluent

Peter wished he’d been in town when the shitstorm went down.

Now all he knew was from the jumbled recollections of their haphazard pack… The gist of it was the following: 

There had been witches in town (because of course) who planned to do a ritual to destroy Beacon Hills/California/the US/the world itself, depending on who he was talking to. 

Scott, Lydia and Stiles managed to foil their plans with a reckless plan nobody could tell him the details about, scaling down the whole spell into a supernaturally supersonic, but otherwise harmless magical explosion.

Harmless for people not in the immediate vicinity, anyway.

Lydia - thanks to being a Banshee - appeared to be soundproofed for it.

Scott had been deafened for two weeks, even with his Alpha healing.

Stiles was not so lucky.

* * *

The boy had been in hospital for nearly a week, underwent countless tests, but no doctor could help him. Since then, Stiles locked himself away in the werewolf proofed Stilinski house - with added runes to keep even Banshees out - and refused to meet any of his friends. 

It was a mess. But let’s be honest, even when they were ugly and unfortunate, Peter was the master of getting the best of the worst situations. And if death couldn’t stop him? Then certainly a little thing like deafness wouldn’t stop him either from enjoying the company of the single noteworthy person in this hell hole of a town.

* * *

The Sheriff was not surprised to see him. Though he definitely didn’t seem pleased either.

“What do you want?” he asked, staying carefully behind the threshold. Cute.

“I would like to talk to Stiles,” Peter told him with a smile. He didn’t think for a second that it would make him look less suspicious - not for a man like John Stilinski - but still. He had to abide by his own trademark, right?

The man huffed out a breath, tinted with exhaustion. He looked to be ten years older than the last time Peter saw him, and he could imagine how hard this whole situation was for the Stilinskis - he could work with that.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone, and I’m sure you know that, so _what do you want_ , Peter?”

He stepped closer - as close as the magic surrounding the house would allow him. It didn’t feel like mountain ash. Good.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I want to help.”

The Sheriff arched an eyebrow, but there already was a slight uncertainty behind his eyes that told Peter exactly how desperate he was for a break.

“Why?”

Peter shrugged.

“I hate this town. I hate all the stupid teenagers in it. And my nephew. There are two people I can tolerate, and one of them is South America. Either I can get Stiles to get out of his bunker, or I leave town before I go on another murder rampage from sheer annoyance.”

The man considered him for a long time.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone,” he repeated, like he wanted to convince himself.

That made Peter cluck his tongue.

“Well, we both know that’s not good for him. He had quite enough time to get over the first shock. He has every right to keep being angry and depressed, but that doesn’t mean he should be left to his own devices. As much as I value his intellect, you are his father, and I think that you know as well as I do that it’s time for Stiles to face the world.”

Thankfully, the Sheriff seemed to have noticed that this was a rare moment of complete honesty on his side, because his sighed, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. They both knew Peter wasn’t the charitable kind. But they also both knew that he was right. And who knew? Maybe seeing starting with someone Stiles wasn’t expecting to visit was the best way to go.

* * *

The spell was - apparently - voice activated. All the Sheriff had to do was invite him inside for it to loosen enough for Peter to slip through. Good. It was just like Stiles to invent a system that would let his father get help if something terrible happened, and Peter was secretly glad, that even in his darkest moments, the boy didn’t lose his edge.

He walked up the stairs quietly, not like he needed to be sneaky in the current situation. The upstairs was completely silent, and for a second he thought Stiles might be sleeping but then there was the a frustrated exhale, that for some reason made Peter grin.

When he opened the door, he found the boy sitting by his laptop, watching youtube on mute. From the looks of it, it was an instructional video on ASL.

For a moment or two he just stood there watching. Peter was completely aware that everyone thought that he was a creeper, and he had enough self-awareness to know that it wasn’t without a basis. If there was one person he was honest with, it was himself.

According to the subtitles, the woman was signing basic phrases. Introductions. Asking for direction. The lot.

Stiles tried doing it after her, but he was obviously had a hard time following what was happening.

“This is bullshit,” he boy muttered to himself, sounding uncharacteristically dejected.

Time to put the show on the road.

Peter walked up to him, and taped his shoulder, making Stiles jump, his eyes growing wide when he turned around.

“What the fuck? How the hell did you get in here?” he asked, thankfully more shocked than angry for the moment, though Peter imagined that would be coming soon.

 _Your father let me in._ he signed smoothly. He had to brush up on his skills a bit, before coming over, but thankfully it came back fairly easily.

Stiles blinked, watching Peter’s hands, mesmerized.

“Wait, what? I didn’t get like, any of that,” he said, the top of his ears burning.

Peter repeated the motions, slower, making sure to sign everything clearly and separately.

He could see as the boy mouthed the words he recognized. He had to repeat it once more, before Stiles got it.

“Dad let you in,” he said, and he was sure he wasn’t imagining the victory coloring his voice.

_Yes. Correct._

Stiles looked like he didn’t know if he should be outraged at his presence or… something else, but thankfully he was as curious as always.

“How… Where did you learn ASL?”

Peter contemplated for a second, but realized that Stiles probably wasn’t on the level to understand what he wanted to say, so he grabbed a piece of paper to write his answer.

The boy read it with a raised eyebrow.

“You learned it for college credits? Seriously?”

He shrugged, but by then Stiles had a familiar spark of determination in his eyes.

“Okay. Teach me how to sign _college_.”

He was all too happy to oblige.


	47. Peter/Stiles - Emotional support at the doctor (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A needs a hand to hold when they get their blood drawn. Person B is happy to oblige

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, as Peter slipped behind the curtain of his corner of the hospital room. If his voice a bit more high-pitched than usual, he dared anyone to say a thing about it.

The werewolf grinned, leaning against the wall.

“Believe it or not, I was just driving by, and picked up your heartbeat going a mile a minute from the car,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It sounded like you were about a second away from a heart attack and I felt generous enough to come to the rescue. Or gloat. Depending on the situation.”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Stiles snarled, feeling a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck. “It’s just a regular check-up, so you can get lost now.”

Just a regular check-up. Yeah. Nothing to worry about - not a thing. And anyway? Was that normal? That Peter could spot his heartbeat from hundreds of feet away in a busy building?

Before he could ask the questions on the tip of his tongue, Melissa appeared, carrying a small tray for medical equipment. With vials. And needles and…

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, doing a double take, her face growing stony in an instant as she noticed the man.

Peter smiled.

“Emotional support,” he said, smarmy as ever.

Melissa raised an eyebrow, looking at Stiles for confirmation. He didn’t know what to say. Mostly because his throat was closing up from panic.

Shit, he hated needles so much.

When she didn’t get a reply, just Stiles’ wide-eyed stare she sighed.

“Alright then. If he can stop you from tensing up and breaking needles, he can stay.”

It was Peter’s turn to look startled, thought it only lasted for a second. He shifted away from the wall, and offered his hand as Melissa got a syringe ready to take his blood. Stiles swallowed, averting his eyes, and took it.

It didn’t take a minute for him to feel the supernatural pain-sucking taking effect. It was weird. He wasn’t even in pain, so he had no idea what Peter was even taking away, but his body went lax, and he finally relaxed into the bed, eyes falling shut.

He could barely feel it when Melissa pricked the skin of his arm.

“Thanks,” he slurred, feeling a bit high.

He didn’t get a reply, just a gentle squeeze around his fingers.


	48. Peter/Stiles - Job interview (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A is trying to snag a job at the same place Person B works. Person B is not subtle about how much they want Person A to be hired.

Stiles was… well, not nervous, exactly, but a bit twitchy. This was his first, big interview for a job since he finished the FBI preparation school.

Oh, yeah, Rafael McCall might have thought that he would follow in his footsteps, but surprisingly grandiose favors notwithstanding, he couldn’t stand the guy. Nope.

But with that school under his belt? There was only one way to go.

Well, no. Actually, there were several, but he wanted to be a PI, okay? Good money, less government oversight. That was right up his alley.

Especially at a place like Parker and Sons Private Investigation Ltd. It was the most well known business of it’s kind in New York. Or most of the US. From what Stiles heard, they had all the best technology at their disposal, high profile clients… the works.

He honestly didn’t think he would even be called in for an interview. Sure, the school had been a plus, but this place was a bit out of his league with no actual experience and not even 25 yet.

Even the building their HQ was in was imposing as fuck. A skyscraper - because why the fuck not - and they had three whole floors for themselves. Stiles couldn’t quite imagine himself in one of those offices, looking out over his city and consoling some poor, cuckolded starlet - or hell, star - but he was trying very hard.

His palms were only a bit sweaty as he took the elevator to the 74th floor, and by the time he was talking the receptionist of PSPI, he was almost calm.

Stiles was directed to a big corner office, and left there, the nice, black girl from the reception probably realizing that he needed a second to compose himself.

Okay. He had this. He could absolutely do this.

Stiles opened the door and walked inside with as much fake confidence as he could muster.

There was a huge desk, and a big, leather office chair, currently with its back to him. Then the chair turned.

“Well, hello there, Stiles.”

Okay. No. No, he couldn’t do this. Absolutely not.

He closed his eyes, praying that Peter fucking Hale wouldn’t be sitting in front of him, behind that huge, mahogany desk like a damned mob boss.

“What the fuck, Peter?”

“Now, now. I would have expected better language from a new hire. Come sit down and have a chat.”

“A new… wait. What?”

Peter arched an eyebrow. He looked good, his suit was amazing and he seemed like he was in his element.

“I said sit down.”

Stiles moved on autopilot, sinking into the lush chair in front of the desk. He only just noticed the copper name plate reading ‘P. Hale - Special Consultant’.

“Do you actually work here?” he asked, unable to stop himself. Peter snorted.

“Yes, Stiles, I do. Believe it or not, Parker and Sons has a clientage well beyond what most people would consider to be… normal.”

Oh. Oh fuck it.

Stiles buried his head in his hands, trying to decide if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“You mean… you mean supernatural, right? That’s why you’re work here. That’s why you’re a ‘special’ consultant.”

Peter hummed, putting his elbows on the table.

“Exactly. Of course, it’s just a single branch of Parker and Sons, and the majority of the customers are completely ordinary, but it’s a branch that has brought in some big cash in the past.”

Stiles looked up at him, trying to figure out what sort of angle Peter was playing here.

“So, you saw my application and decided to have a call me in and have a good laugh?” he asked, because lets be honest, that was the most likely possibility.

Peter shook his head, looking a bit disappointing.

“As I’ve said, you’re already hired. My department needed a bit of fresh blood, and then - yes - I saw your application. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find people who have the needed qualification _and_ know about the supernatural? We had this opening for months now, Stiles.”

Okay. Okay, he could almost believe that. But there was still one thing that needed to be cleared up.

“So you would be my boss?”

Peter leaned back in his unnecessarily comfortable looking chair with a grin.

“That’s correct.”

Stiles pretended t think about it.

“Yeaaaah. No. Nope, not doing it.”

To his annoyance, Peter didn’t seem to be phased. He pulled out a business card an wrote something on the back “This would be your salary,” he said, before handing it over.

Stiles glanced at the number and for a second he was afraid that his eyes would pop out of his head.

“Oh. My. God.”

Peter smirked.

“And we have a very appealing benefit package, not to mention the pleasure of my company. So, Mr. Stilinski, are you in?”

He was shaking Peter’s hand before he knew what he was doing. Oh yeah, he was probably going to regret this.

“I’m in.”


	49. Peter/Stiles - corsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question asked by Anonymous: Ok so I have a Thing for corsets and I'd like you to imagine stiles in a corset w peter yanking on the laces at the back as he pounds the everloving heck out of Stiles

“Fuck, you look good,” Peter said. There was a drop of sweat trembling on the tip of is nose, but he didn’t care. He could barely think, with Stiles laid out like that in front of him; the red of the corset laced tight around his body.

The boy moaned in reply. Shit, Peter couldn’t stop himself from putting a little extra fort into his next thrust, wanting to hear it again.

Even Stiles’ voice changed from the corset; just a bit higher, a bit more breathy as he struggled to fill his lungs completely. It was driving him mad.

“P-peter.”

“I’m here, beautiful,” he said. He wasn’t sure he could even stop his hips if he wanted to. Stiles’ ass was gripping him so right. It was like he could feel the squeeze of the corset even on his cock. With effort he unclenched one of his hands from the boy’s hips and tangled his fingers into the lacing, yanking on it just a bit.

The smell of Stiles’ precome grew more prominent in the air, even as the boy whined, high-pitched and delicate.

“Yeah, just like that. Will you come on my cock? Just from me pulling your pretty little corset tighter?” he asked, his own voice hoarse. How long have they been doing this? Maybe an hour?

Stiles fell to the bed, his elbows giving out, but back still straight. It had no other choice.

Peter growled, ramming forward harder, making the lube squelch as he fucked into the boy’s poor, reddened hole. He would have felt sorry, but he knew exactly how much his lover liked it rough.

“Come on, beautiful. You can do it… Here…”

He let go of the boy’s hips completely, sliding his other hand up to his waist, where it became slender and curved under the merciless squeeze of the corset. It was amazing how fragile his boy felt like this. Like a flower or a blown-glass vase. Stiles trembled under his touch. Peter could remember how wide his eyes had been when he saw himself in the mirror after they dressed him up, how his gaze had kept cutting back to the new shape of his body.

Oh, Stiles loved it too, loved to look like something Peter could break.

He kept pulling on the laces, tightening them bit by bit until Stiles was sucking in air in quick, shallow gasps. His hole kept clenching down around him, the boy’s cock twitching every time he had a harder time to breathe.

“That’s it, just like that…”

Peter shifted his hips, aiming deeper until his boy was shuddering and falling apart under him, spilling onto the sheets, his hole grasping so tight that it almost hurt. That was all Peter needed to come too, collapsing beside his lover.

Stiles’ face was flushed, his eyelashes dark as he tried to catch his breath, and Peter spent a long minute just looking at him.

He stroked a hand down the boy’s spine, still encased in the rigid corset.

“Want me to take this off for you?”

Stiles didn’t open his eyes, but there was a small grin hiding in the shadows around his mouth.

“Ah… maybe in a few minutes.”


	50. Peter/Stiles - college application (no porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A is given too many college class options and can’t decide. Person B helps them out.

“ _Ugh_.”

If there was one sound to sum up the last few days Stiles had? That was it. Ugh.

“What is it?” Peter asked from the other end of the line. New York was far away, but not far enough to stop them from bothering each other over the phone at least once a week.

Or at least, that was what Stiles told himself. The alternative; that some-fucking-how he had the best conversations with Peter despite being surrounded by his friends in Beacon Hills was… just a bit too much to accept.

He also liked to think that Peter had no hand in his decision of going to college in New York. Absolutely not. None. Nada.

“I’ve been trying to decide what courses to pick. I swear to god, I almost want a wendigo to come barging in to town just to have a reason to postpone it,” Stiles admitted. 

Decisions, decisions. September was getting closer every day, and he was still stewing in indecision.

Peter clucked his tongue. It was a familiar sound, something that would have annoyed the hell out of him, and made him roll his eyes when the man was actually here, but now it just made him crack a fond grin.

“It can’t be that hard, Stiles,” Peter told him. Stiles could hear him puttering around in the background. Cooking, probably. Peter loved to describe his culinary creations in great detail whenever Stiles happened to mention that he was hungry. The bastard.

“Um, yeah? Yeah, it can be. Believe me, I’ve been looking at this list for three days now, and I am nowhere close to a solution.”

“Is there nothing you like?”

Something sizzled. Oil in a pan maybe. He was about 60% sure that Peter was overstating his prowess in the kitchen, but sometimes he still desperately wished phones to relay smell as well as sound.

He almost forgot to be frustrated.

“The opposite. I have the opposite problem. I like _everything_. But I told my dad I wouldn’t overdo things, and would only take three electives.”

Peter hummed under his breath.

“You shouldn’t have made such hasty promises, Stiles. We both know you will absolutely overdo everything. It’s a good thing I will be able to keep an eye on you.”

“Ugh,” Stiles said again, rolling his eyes. Sure. Peter the guardian angel. It was ridiculous, and the thought of it did not warm his belly. Not even a little.

“Alright then, tell me the six you want the most.”

Stiles bit his lips, eyes running up and down the list over and over. Six. He could choose six.

“Well, in no particular order: Anthropology of Death, Forensic Pathology, Firearms and Impression Evidence, Crime Scene Investigation… um… ah! Bloodstain Pattern Analysis! And… and… duh. Forensic Psychology. Yeah. Something like these, but there’s more, like-”

“Ah, ah, ah! Six. That was six,” Peter interrupted. He sounded a bit preoccupied, and Stiles could imagine him with his phone hitched against his shoulder as he stirred something delicious in a pot. “Alright. I imagine you’ve already tried the process of elimination.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, that got me down to, like, twelve. There’s no way I can choose from these.”

Peter made him repeat the courses and Stiles obediently recited the list.

“Hm… Tell you what. I’m not an expert, but I imagine Pathology would include some of the Anthropology of Death. And Crime Scene Investigation would touch on both bloodstain analysis and firearms evidence, wouldn’t they?”

Stiles frowned on his laptop. Yeah. Sure. That was possible.

“Okay, _maybe_ , but come on, they all sound awesome! And ‘touching on’ something isn’t really the same!”

“No, of course not. But it would give you a wider perspective. And who said that you couldn’t do one of your usual research sprees after that? I think you should go for the things that give you a bit more space to play around.”

That. That was actually not a bad idea. 

“Huh.”

He could almost hear Peter smile.

“Huh indeed. And now that the boring stuff is out of the way, let me tell you about this amazing Pork Rillette Hand Pie I’m making…”

Stiles closed his eyes with a grin and leaned back in his chair to listen.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked the ficlets!
> 
> Also, if you have a prompt (no matter how fluffy or kinky) drop me an ask at udunie.tumblr.com/ask


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